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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748742">The October Project</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oloros/pseuds/oloros'>oloros</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animals, Awkward situations, Developing Friendships, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), He receives much love, M/M, More tags to be added as they come up, Promptober, Whump, and a little bit of humour now and then too</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oloros/pseuds/oloros</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans are a weird species, but androids are too.<br/>Connor would know - he's caught between them both.</p><p>Thirty one instances of Connor simply interacting with the world around him, and how much better it is for it.<br/>...and maybe a bonus RK900 too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor &amp; Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson &amp; Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Click</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor has a weird habit that Hank struggles to piece together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've never done this kind of thing before, it's a rather large commitment and I'm not the greatest at that kind of thing but... it's the time for change, right?<br/>I'm not following any kind of set list, so the prompts are mostly from me. They are just simple words and will be put into each chapter title if you are interested in making your own story based off of them.<br/>I'm hoping this will be fun for both me and everyone who reads! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
Connor did this weird thing with Sumo, Hank noticed.</p><p>He clicked at him.</p><p>Now, not the kind of click a human would make with their tongue. Nothing like the click of two fingers snapping. It was like the mechanical hand of a clock, ticking and ticking into the night. Connor kept it quiet and the only indication of the noise was slightest movement in his neck, easy to miss with just a simple glance.</p><p>He found out the night he woke with a dry mouth, rolling out of the comfort of his bed and sauntering into the kitchen. He heard it, and he stopped – tick, tick, tick.</p><p>Click, click, click.</p><p>It was a delicate sound, polite and cordial to every other noise in the room, fitting between spaces where the wind didn’t howl and the crickets didn’t chirp. Hank would’ve cast it off as a product of his sleep deprivation if it weren’t for the loud grumbling that pursued it. Sumo was loud when he was happy, like a grizzly bear with wet paws and a tasty fish.</p><p>Hank saw him then. Sat across from the sack of fur, Connor was propped against the wall with sights on nothing but the noisy dog that had garnered his adoring, youthful eyes.</p><p>Hank wasn’t sure if he had noticed him, bent over the kitchen counter trying to decipher the odd painting he had stumbled upon, but when he shuffled back to his room, strained his ears as much as an old man could…. he couldn’t hear a single click for the rest of the night.</p><p>Hank didn’t get to hear it often. When Sumo was on the couch with them during their off hours, all snug against the cushions, Connor wouldn’t do it. He would run his hands through his fur and he would coo to him until he dozed off in a blissful haze, but he wouldn’t make the click. He would whistle to the birds in the park, he would speak to the fish in the ponds, he would watch the butterflies dance with the flower petals, but he wouldn’t ever click.</p><p>But, when the streets were empty, the birds had settled in their nests, the rivers calmed and the moon cast a leaden net, Hank would hold his breath and steady his heartbeat to hear that strange song once more.</p><p>Hank tried to question it. He really did. But he didn’t have a frame to work with. He hadn’t outright admitted that he knew Connor was doing it, and he imagined bringing it up out of the blue would make for an awkward situation more than anything. It was best to ease into things when it came to Connor’s habits, he found; he didn’t understand androids, and he didn’t think he ever would.</p><p>The environments in which it happened gave him something of a clue. It was mostly at night, in the quiet, around Sumo. Hank marked his best guess as it being his way of calling him, like a person clicking commands to a horse, but his theory landed on cracked ice when he heard the sound under a more solemn circumstance.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The snow was heavy that day, the clouds lining everything with an ominous dark curve. He and Connor were walking, or shambling, through the worst of it when a flash of crimson caught his eye on the buried roads. Connor moved past him, taking big strides and disappearing behind a large mound of snow.</p><p>And as Hank moved closer, the clicking began above the layers surrounding them.</p><p>It was one of the stray cats. Detroit was full of them, whether it be a cat running away of its own volition or a thoughtless person realising they didn’t want to be responsible for another life. It was uncommon to see the same cat twice when the weather got extreme and streets overflowed.</p><p>The cat was writhing against the coloured snow. Its fur was matted along its belly, its legs twitched in distress and red painted the snow in a sickening display. Connor was knelt over it, rubbing two fingers against its head gently. His throat twitched with every soft click.</p><p>The cat’s ears responded with the sound, and its body began to relax. Its head pressed closer to his fingertips and its breathing began to slow. As Hank moved closer, he heard soft purring from the wounded animal – both painful and content.</p><p>Connor’s clicking matched its pace after a couple of beats. He didn’t stop until the cat’s eyes had closed and it slipped into a peaceful silence.+</p><p>“It probably got hit by a car,” Hank finally said, a cloud of ice puffing out from his lips. “Happens all the time.”</p><p>Connor gave it one last pat before he stood up.</p><p>If this wasn’t a chance to ask about it, screaming and clawing at him, Hank didn’t know what was. “What were you doing?”</p><p>“Purring is a way of self-soothing for cats,” Cold air trailed out of Connor’s mouth; sighing always meant something more. “I was emulating it.”</p><p>Hank raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know androids could do that.”</p><p>It warmed his heart to think that Connor had beelined for the animal just so that it didn’t have the time to die alone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next time he heard it was when Connor had a bad day.</p><p>The type of bad day where every little statement pricks under your skin like a needle and every colour in the world is just that little bit too bright. He could tell when Connor was reaching his limit when he snapped at Gavin. Gavin hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary, in fact Hank would go so far as to say it had been a playful jab at best, but instead of the usual docile response he would receive, a flame had been lit in Connor’s eyes and he delivered a biting remark.</p><p>He even complained in the car. Connor <em>rarely</em> complained.</p><p>Well, that was a lie. He complained about Hank’s diet. He complained about Sumo’s brand of pet food. He complained about the cluttered appearance of Hank’s desk and he complained when Hank forgot to lock the door at night. But the complaints were always in reference to the betterment of something else; it was always out of empathy.</p><p>Connor was voicing his frustrations this time, loud and clear for Hank to see. The wall he was used to receiving had been stripped and replaced with glass.</p><p>But Hank didn’t register a word he said; it was what was beneath those words, cosied in each syllable. It was the clicking. It was more high pitched and more rapid than compared to when he’d heard it before, but it was the clicking all the same.</p><p>It didn’t line up with any of his previous theories. Connor wasn’t soothing an animal, he wasn’t enjoying the company of Sumo. He was visibly angered, the opposite of every other time he had made the noise.</p><p>Hank felt stumped, to say the least. But he tried not to focus on it for the rest of the drive. When Connor took the time to vent out his feelings, there was no other appropriate response than to make it known he was doing the right thing.</p><p>They parked in the driveway and entered the house. All ferocity Connor harboured before was lost when he saw the hound waiting for them at the door. He lunged forward and nuzzled into the thick fur. Hank smiled to himself as he hung up his coat.</p><p>He heard it again that night. He heard Sumo’s claws scuffling along the floors and the loud thump that followed when he found a comfy spot to lay. He heard Connor’s shoes tap a couple times as he seated himself in turn. Then, the clicking started up again, and as mesmerising as watching a grandfather clock, it lulled Hank into a slumber once more.</p><p>He never asked about the sound again.</p><p>It’s not like he wasn’t curious. It still bit at him the next few times he heard it, the question bubbling at his lips, begging to be released. But he always held it back, until it sunk away and was replaced with acceptance.</p><p>It had a versatile set of reasons, he could tell. But he had a feeling that even if Connor sat him down and explained to him every intricacy of the habit, he still wouldn’t be able to understand.</p><p>It wasn’t for him, he had realised. It would only ever make sense to Connor.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor thinks on the topic of death.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the cruel chill of thirium dripped down his forehead and the lights around him blurred into nothing, the floor was a distant comfort to his failing vision.</p><p>He was an android, and androids were expendable. It was expected that at some point during their existence, they would get damaged so badly that repairs would be written off as useless. So, as custom with a broken computer or a broken phone, they would get cast away and stripped for parts, plucked to their foundations and repurposed for a new, better android.</p><p>The only difference was that Connor was only new in the sense of his physical body.</p><p>He uploaded his memory each time, a blink of coding before it was all erased, transferred into a better version of himself. Amanda would reprimand him, eyes stern and lips tight against her skin, reminding him not to think about too much about it, just focus on the tasks he was given. He could only ever think about the mission.</p><p>The floor was always his last memory when an old model was destroyed. It didn’t matter the circumstance or the perpetrator of his death, his eyes would fall to the tiles, the carpet, the sand, the dirt – whatever was below his feet, cushioning his body as it shut down.</p><p>Death was something he felt two ways about. It was permanent for humans, and he felt the weight of that when the bodies dropped and his finger shuddered against the freshly warm trigger of his gun. To watch the crimson blood seep through the carpet’s fibres and taint them, perhaps for days, weeks or months to come; a lasting reminder of their passing. He felt envy. Androids didn’t get that pleasure. Thirium evaporated, only visible to another android… and the chances of them caring for the remains of a deviant hunter were low. </p><p>He became accepting of the fact he would die alone each day. There was a morbid satisfaction that he was at least surrounded by himself, cerulean blue.</p><p>Lieutenant Anderson introduced a new perspective on his own death. Each time the ground greeted him and he watched the world fade once more, he’d catch a glimpse of the anguish in his eyes. He was a stoic man for the most part, hiding behind a guise of humour, but the pain in his eyes was unfettered in those moments. It became a begrudging necessity to have to consider himself as something other than a walking weapon, if only for the sake of the man.</p><p>Then, there was Stratford Tower.</p><p>Lieutenant Anderson had screamed at him not to go, but he didn’t have time to listen. Opportunity balanced on a thin, unravelling rope in that moment and Connor had to pounce on the deviant before the precious information could be lost. The danger of each bullet that passed him didn’t go unnoticed when he had a real reason to continue existing, even if that reason was only a frightened, wounded android laid at the end of his route, pressed up against a hollow wall.</p><p>Connor locked his arm to the other’s and initiated the interface. He blended their minds and invaded his space like an unwanted cloud of smog, thick and toxic in his circuits.</p><p>A deafening bang, louder than the screams, broke the silence and cut his contact. Everything went cold, it was the only sensation he could feel – not the rough crunch of the snow or the sting of ice on his face. An endless, dull, throbbing cold that started in his skull and spread down to his legs, until his body was numb and he couldn’t feel a thing. It was the first time that Connor had felt that sensation then opened his eyes and stared at the floor to find a body that wasn’t his.</p><p>It was also the first time Connor had feared for his life out of something other than inconvenience. Like he had <em>wanted</em> to survive. For <em>himself.</em></p><p>Did he?</p><p>Next came the fear for another’s life.</p><p>Connor recognised it when he saw his reflection, brandishing a pistol and pressing it to Hank’s temple. And he realised, in that fleeting moment, that he didn’t want Hank to die. It wouldn’t hinder his goals, it wouldn’t disappoint Amanda, but he willed it not to happen because he cared for the man. And maybe that was selfish of him, faced with a choice between progressing his story or stopping it all for someone who had once hated him, but in that split second he saw the anguished eyes again, there was not a single line of code that told him to stop running.</p><p>He didn’t want to get a bullet paved through his head, but it was a preferable action to watching his friend bleed out on the floor.</p><p>He smashed through that mirror, cracking every piece, until its frame was bare and it was faced with its last chance at evading defeat before it succumbed to its wounds. It reached across the glossy, white tiles and grabbed for its gun, barely allowing the air a moment to cool from the heat before it glazed the floors with a brilliant blue.</p><p>Connor had watched himself die many times, but he never imagined he’d be standing across the room from it.</p><p>The mirror had chosen death over the possibility of a change, because that’s all Amanda had ever said. If there was no hope for the mission, there was no point to his existence. If the Zen Garden had only wilted roses left to bloom, then he would die alongside them.</p><p>Hank placed a hand on his shoulder, and Connor was grateful.</p><p>He knew what was the come. He knew he would have to face Amanda to confront his actions and his betrayal. But he would rather that than die, alone and cold, with nothing but the blue on the floors and himself to mourn it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Miscreant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gavin has an annoying partner.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had only been a single<em> month</em> since that RK900 model was placed in their precinct, and Gavin felt like he was going to pull his own hair out. He was convinced Fowler had paired them together as some kind of sick joke, a cruel punishment for how he chose to treat Connor in the past. He’d apologised! At least twice! That was a record-breaker for him; they should’ve been grateful. Fowler insisted it would help him with his investigations, but he knew better than that.</p><p>It was already hard enough to get a name out of the damn thing.</p><p>“Is a name important?” He would ask.</p><p>Of course it was fucking important. RK900 did anything but roll off the tongue, and Gavin hated numbers.</p><p>They settled on Nines, with no effort on the android’s part. Gavin never claimed to be prolific in naming. He struggled to name pets let alone a whole other being, especially one with a face so intense he was sure he could’ve had an easier conversation with a plank of wood. But, as Fowler dictated, he was stuck with the hunk of plastic, and he needed a name. He didn’t realise how quickly it would become the least of his worries. </p><p>Connor was very uptight about the law. There were a few instances where Gavin would accompany Hank and his plastic pet, handling the human areas of a case while they tended to the androids. Connor was… dedicated, to put it nicely. He caught onto even the smallest of crimes and insisted a punishment for it. Hank wasn’t the kind of man to care about something as little as pocketing a pen off of a front desk, but Connor was the kind of android to chase them down several streets then proudly display the retrieved pen like some kind of Labrador.</p><p>Nines, on the other hand, was a special breed of uptight.</p><p>It became apparent when he took the hunk of junk to a park after their shift; he figured he might as well get to know the thing to some degree. They didn’t do anything note-worthy, for Gavin at least. Nines asked questions about his personal life, and Gavin told him to keep his nose where it belongs. However, when they were about to head back to the car, the android just stopped. Ceased all movement and turned his head.</p><p>Nines ignored any attempts of conversation and stared blankly at a crosswalk. There was a lady and her child walking across, ignoring the vibrant red markings on the road.</p><p>“They are jaywalking,” Nines said.</p><p>Gavin snorted in response. “At least your eyes are workin’.”</p><p>Nines angled his hard stare to him. He looked like an owl. “We should fine them.”</p><p>“We’re not on the clock, dumbass.”</p><p>Nines blinked.</p><p>“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” Gavin sighed heavily and shook his head. “It’s <em>fine.</em> They’re not hurtin’ anyone by crossin’ the street a little early, and the cars ain’t gonna hit ‘em.”</p><p>Rare moments popped into fruition where he would see some clarity in the android’s eyes, a hint of recognition followed by tightly knitted brows. “It hurts my feelings that they are so blatantly ignoring the laws in my presence,” Nines said.</p><p>He wanted to yell at him, he really did. He was possibly the dumbest robot he’d ever come across. But something about the plainness of his tone, the fact his confrontation with real emotions was over jaywalking, was so absurdly hilarious that he couldn’t do anything but laugh. A loud, booming laugh that made his chest rumble.</p><p>Gavin slapped a hand on Nines’ shoulder when his outburst faded. “You are so full of shit.”</p><p>His arm fell to his hip when the android started moving, a stiff and fast walk towards the pair. Gavin grumbled to himself and shuffled after him, struggling to match his stride. He had long legs. They had to make up at least ninety percent of his height, he thought, and, boy, was there was a lot of height. He skipped a couple steps to park in front of Nines, pressing a hand to his chest. He stopped, and Gavin was grateful, because if he wasn’t sure if he was just going to stomp over him like a doormat.</p><p>“I’m serious, just leave ‘em alone.” Gavin put on his best I’m-telling-off-a-dog-right-now voice. “The law ain’t that serious.”</p><p>“If we let this slide, then what else is liable?” Nines voice was as tough as rocks. “The law needs to be consistent or people will disobey.”</p><p>Gavin rolled his eyes. “God, you are so dramatic. Look – I’ll cut you a deal. You leave them alone, I’ll see if I can weasel you into a joint case with Connor.”</p><p>Gavin wasn’t totally dumb. He saw the way Nines looked longingly at Connor and Hank when they went off to do their robotics shit. He wasn’t sure if he had a hard on for the other android or the fact they were doing something cool, but it made for a great bargaining chip nonetheless.</p><p>Nines’ frown deepened. “Hmm. I would like something else.”</p><p>Gavin raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I would like us to work an <em>android</em> case together.”</p><p>Gavin stared at him. “Me and you?”</p><p>“You and I.”</p><p>“Like, just us?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Gavin took a step back. “You’re saying you actually <em>want</em> to work with me?”</p><p>“You seem to have a problem with me,” Nines said. “I think it would benefit our working relationship if you learnt more about my kind.”</p><p>Straight lips and straight brows. There wasn’t a single indication that he was pulling his leg. Gavin had to take a moment to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating the fact the same android that had ragged on a child for crossing the street was asking to become closer with him.</p><p>He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine, I’ll bite,” he said. “I’ll talk to Fowler, but no promises, alright? I’m not a fuckin’ magician.”</p><p>Nines’ lips twitched the slightest bit, and it was what Gavin had come to learn was his way of chuckling. “The chances are more likely than convincing him to allow me to work with the RK800.”</p><p>He was sure then that CyberLife had programmed some kind of sarcastic asshole program into the RK models. He could at least be thankful for the fact that Nines didn’t express it as clearly, so he chose not to acknowledge it and ushered him back on the path to the car.</p><p>He was a stupid, uptight android with eyes that were way too bright with how dense he was in the head, but Gavin couldn’t bring himself to reject him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Erase</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor visits Markus.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You really need a friend.” It was nothing but a passing statement from Gavin. A taunt to fly by his ears, never to be acknowledged. </p><p>But, for once, there was truth in his words.</p><p>That’s how Connor ended up standing outside of Markus’ mansion. It was a beautiful structure. Regal, colourful, artistic. Everything Markus was himself.</p><p>It used to belong to Carl Manfred before he passed. Connor knew little of him, about as much as any other vaguely famous figure in the city. Markus didn’t like to talk about his past, so he only heard the snippets he allowed him to hear. The small fragments of memories of a relationship he’d never understand.</p><p>The revolution had been brought to a close only two months ago. Connor hadn’t reached out Markus let alone thought about him, until the day he was called into Jericho and Markus regarded him with a friendliness that made his circuits chill and his eyes wander. He had a hard time being around him – he had a hard time thinking about him. All he saw was someone in front of him, standing at the edge of the platform, with a gun fixated on the back of his skull.</p><p>“You should come see me,” he had offered. He reached for his hand, kind and accommodating, and transferred an address to him. “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, if you accept.”</p><p>Connor accepted, because Connor was stupid, and maybe spending time with another android would be more preferable than spending time with Gavin.</p><p>Cool air smothered him when Markus opened the door. His temperature sensors flared at the sudden drop before steadying themselves. Markus gave him a onceover and brought a hand to his chin, rubbing the plastic skin gently. He was wearing casual clothes, a red shirt with jeans, nothing compared to the regal outfits he’d wear with the people of Jericho.</p><p>Connor extended his arm stiffly. “Hello.”</p><p>Markus pat it down in return. “No need for that,” he laughed. “You don’t have to be so professional.”</p><p>It was then that he realised what Markus had been looking at – his CyberLife suit. Excluding his Jericho disguise, it was the only article of clothing he’d ever worn. It never occurred to him that he could… wear other things. He smiled awkwardly.</p><p>“Well, come on in.”</p><p>If the outside of the mansion had been a sight to see, the inside was something else. It was neat and orderly, with complimentary colours and homely design, but the ornaments struck him as random. There was no rhyme or reason to them, seeing odd paintings on the walls, then entering another room to see a large, lifeless giraffe to his right. Simplistic piano music circled around the room like a flock of birds chirping at his ear.</p><p>“I haven’t cleaned the place up yet,” Markus explained upon seeing his expression. “A lot of it’s Carl’s – I just… haven’t had to heart to move anything.” He walked to the left to a large dining table, sporting a delicate teapot and two fancy cups, embroidered with silver. “Have you ever tried tea?”</p><p>“I’m not designed to –“</p><p>His voice trailed away when Markus held up a finger. He tipped the teapot and let a small amount of the liquid flood the bottom of a cup. He beckoned Connor closer and pushed it to the edge of the table. “Here. Try it.”</p><p>Connor watched him carefully, then slipped two fingers through the handle. The tea was warm and sweet, his body instinctively analysing the contents on its way down. It bubbled along his neck and pooled in his abdomen. He smacked his lips once while adjusting to the new sensation – it was nothing like the mournful history of blood or the silent sadness of thirium.</p><p>“How’d you like it?”</p><p>He regarded the cup and made a face. “I’m not sure. It’s difficult to describe.”</p><p>“It’ll come to you,” Markus said. “There’s a lot of things to discover, now that we’re able to.” He headed back to where the giraffe was, towards a small door. “I heard you’re still working with the police.”</p><p>Connor nodded. “I am. I’ve chosen to continue my work with Lieutenant Anderson.”</p><p>“That’s good. You’re good at what you do.”</p><p>The room that awaited him through the door was like stepping into a wonderland of paint, the right side of the brain expressed through thousands of canvases and brushes. Markus had turned around to watch him, seeking out his reaction, with his teeth showing and his eyes sparkling.</p><p>“I wanted to show you how to paint.”</p><p>After all that had happened, Markus wanted him to show him to paint? He moved to the right corner of the room, where a blank canvas was set and a pre-prepared palette with a cup of water balanced on the wooden platform below it. When Connor walked closer to it, he could see blue, red and yellow, hundreds of different shades all dotted on the surface.</p><p>Markus handed him a fine-pointed brush and it froze in his hand. It was strange in his palm, an unfamiliar object. Connor searched for guidance.</p><p>“Don’t look so lost,” Markus assured him. “Just paint the first thing that comes to your mind.”</p><p>Painting was like navigating through a blizzard, or crossing a precarious old bridge. There was no other option but to move forward, otherwise you’d fall through the planks, or get lost in the snow. You could never go back on the path you had originally taken. Connor found it frustrating, stroking the bright blue brush along the canvas, knowing he was unable to erase it, to correct his mistakes. It was so permanent. He took the point of the brush off the canvas when his lines failed to meet. He had been too lost in his pondering to focus on his programming.</p><p>He glanced at Markus for his judgement. He had a slight crease to his face; confusion.</p><p>“I’d like to start again,” Connor said.</p><p>Markus waited a minute to respond, looking over the imperfect circle. “You only made one mistake. Try to correct it.”</p><p>Connor pouted a little at that. He would rather start anew and produce a new, perfect circle to work with. He turned back to his mistake and centered his mind, allowing him to drift the brush along the edges of the circle, making it thicker and connecting the lines fluidly. He traced the insides with a hopeful yellow and the rims with an ominous red. He dabbed the brush into the water and began to blue the outer edges, making the red begin to wisp and reach out to the outer edges of the canvas.</p><p>Around the room, his simplistic product was overshadowed by the intricacy and detail of Markus’ work. Connor couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, but Markus was smiling at him. “I like it,” he said.</p><p>Connor placed the palette back against the canvas platform and faced him. “Why did you want me here?”</p><p>Conflict raised its ugly head in Markus’ eyes when an answer formed but he struggled to present it. In turn, Connor felt regret for asking, thinking he’d made a big deal of a small situation, spitting on the face of a friendly meeting.</p><p>When Markus finally spoke, dread plummeted to Connor’s core. He averted his eyes. “Simon saw you on the platform.”</p><p>Words failed to roll off his tongue, blocked by a thick wall. “I….”</p><p>Markus’ arms spread like wings, the feathers curling inwards as he moved towards Connor, an approaching blanket, netting him in. He walked towards him like he were a beast, but a frightened one, baring its teeth and threatening to flee at the first sign of quick movement.</p><p>“He said you pulled a gun… and you aimed it at me.” He spoke slowly and cautiously. “But then you put it back like nothing happened.” His stare prodded at Connor’s skull for an unheard sentence.</p><p>“But it wasn’t you, was it?”</p><p>And the dread crumbled like sand. Because when Connor forced himself to meet Markus once more, he saw a genuine sympathy and a real understanding, something he’d only seen in one other person. He stepped back from Markus’ arms but he couldn’t look away.</p><p>“I had to know for sure.” Markus continued. “I had to know that you’re one of <em>us.</em>”</p><p>“Am I?”</p><p>Markus pointed to his painting. It depicted the three colours an LED showed, with blue in the middle, shrouded by the red and yellow, forced into the middle of the two. It was the only bridge stopping them from connecting.</p><p>“That’s not CyberLife,” he said.</p><p>The painting was his. It wasn’t as bold as Markus’ and it wasn’t as sensitive as Carl’s, but it was his. It was Connor’s painting.</p><p>His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Markus placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t erase anything, but we can build on it. You’re not the deviant hunter anymore.”</p><p>Connor felt some solace in that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Talented</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor teaches an old dog a new trick.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was one of those days where the snow fell heavy, heavy enough that your knees would be buried and the tip of your nose would be frosted with specks of ice. Hank was asleep in his room; it was early in the morning, early enough that the sun had only just peaked over the horizon, making for a soft light that barely touched the petals of the flowers.</p><p>Connor had taken up a noisy task. He didn’t mean to, he was simply going to teach Sumo some new tricks, but he was a lot more rambunctious in the morning than he’d accounted for.</p><p>Sumo was a good dog, a loyal friend that unfortunately had the attention span of a goldfish. He knew two basic commands that Connor was aware of: sit and lay down. Even then, in the face of a rasher of bacon, it was an ordeal to get him to comply with either of those.</p><p>Connor decided he would start with a handshake. It was a popular trick for dogs to be taught, and it seemed easy enough. The internet told him it only required a treat and a closed fist. Food <em>would</em> be Sumo’s greatest motivator, after all.</p><p>He sat cross-legged on the couch and whistled for the big dog. Sumo bounded over with his head high in the air and his nose twitching, sucking in the smell of the beef liver treat tucked into Connor’s palm. His fingers coiled tightly around it and he offered his arm. Sumo pressed his rough, wet nose against it then began to lick his hand. Connor pulled away; that wasn’t working.</p><p>Sumo grumbled. His android friend was concealing a treat from him, and he was not happy about it.</p><p>Connor offered his hand again. It was covered in slobber within the next twenty seconds.</p><p>He tried different positions. He held his hand at the hound’s chest, he held it in the air so that Sumo would have to jump for it, he had even tried directing the dog’s paws onto the treat himself. Sumo was as stubborn as a bull, and all he seemed to want to do was lick through Connor’s hand like a sweet until the treat ended up in his jaws.</p><p>Maybe he needed something more verbal, Connor thought.</p><p>He tucked the treat into the pocket of his pants and held out his open palm. He then took Sumo’s paw and placed it on top.</p><p>“Paw,” he said.</p><p>Sumo ruffed and nuzzled at his hand.</p><p>Connor repeated it a few more times. To his delight, Sumo caught on once the repetitive action became clear to him. When he gave him his paw unprompted, Connor reverted back to his previous method, tucking the treat between his hand and his thumb before offering it to the dog.</p><p>Sumo ignored any of his previous training and slobbered all over his hand again: verbal learning it was, then.</p><p>Connor turned his head when he heard a faint puff of air by the hallway. Hank was leaning against the corner of the wall with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. He had a fond but tired smile on his lips.</p><p>Connor stood up from the couch. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”</p><p>“Yeah, but don’t worry. ‘Bout time I got up anyways.” Hank parted from the wall and walked into the kitchen, beginning to prepare himself a coffee. “Teaching an old dog new tricks, huh?”</p><p>“He still has two years before he is considered a senior dog,” Connor said, holding his hands behind his back. “It’s a challenge to teach him, but… I enjoy it.”</p><p>“He’s talented if you catch him on a good day. I taught him a few special tricks when he was about... three or four, I think.” Hank adorned a sullen look. “It was a… family activity.”</p><p>Connor understood. He ran two fingers along the indent of Sumo’s head then joined Hank in the kitchen, standing adjacent from him. He waited for the silence to settle, allowing Hank time to process his own memories, before he said, “I’m attempting to teach him to shake my hand.”</p><p>Hank sipped from his fresh coffee. “Shake, huh? I’m sure I tried to teach him that. Bastard just kept licking my hand.”</p><p>Connor smiled. “Treats are distracting for him, but he responds well to repetition.” He paused, drumming his fingers against the counter as he battled to decide on his question, “Can I see what you’ve taught him?”</p><p>Hank looked to Sumo, who was pressed against the couch with his belly on the carpet. When he met Connor’s expectant eyes, he had a small, nearly invisible tear at the corner of his own, and shrugged his shoulders with a bittersweet smile. “What the hell? Alright.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Fatigue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Even machines have their limits.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had never been asked to do<em> so many things</em> in <em>one</em> week.</p><p>“Excuse me, could you analyse this?”</p><p>“Hey, plastic, read this for me, would ya?”</p><p>“Can you upload these files to the database?”</p><p>Connor, Connor, Connor.</p><p>He was getting tired of hearing his name come out of so many people’s mouths. Even so, he was programmed to be polite, and despite the better half of deviancy telling him he didn’t need to, it was the most natural way for him to act. So he did the tasks he was given, he darted around the office like a bullet and he found himself agreeing to an outing with Hank, even if he was sure his leg components were going to crumble away to dust beneath him.</p><p>He definitely wouldn’t have agreed if he’d known they were going to enter a high-speed pursuit. Connor was the only one with half functional knees.</p><p>The car passed a man tugging at a woman’s arm, slipping a purse from her hands and streaking down the path. Connor had acted on whim. He wasn’t going to force Hank into suffering a leg cramp because he was feeling unusual. He opened the door and threw himself out of the car, ignoring the cry of protest from his partner – he was built to take the force leaving a moving car would apply. The ground lurched under his shoes and water whirlpooled in his skull… no, no time to rest then.</p><p>His tie cracked the air like a whip as he took off. The man was young, he could see, at most his early twenties. He was lean and muscle lined his arms, but he was no match for a machine. Connor honed in on him like a cheetah to a gazelle, navigating corners with the speed of a missile and imitating his every move.</p><p>The world was but a passing blur in the face of his target. When he finally caught him, time stopped: the wind no longer licked at his cheeks and the sound of footsteps all but stopped to allow his ragged breathing in its stead. Warmth bubbled at the tips of his fingers and snaked up his arms, around and above his throat, dripping down his nose and into the cracks of his lips.</p><p>Screeching followed by heavy, frantic footsteps short-circuited his daze.</p><p>“Fuck me! You keep pulling that shit and I’m gonna have to start keeping you on a leash!” Hank puffed and panted with both physical exertion and exasperation. One long, calming breath later and, “Put that away, you idiot, he’s a kid.”</p><p>The man squirmed under his weight. Reality found Connor once again and he regarded himself: one foot on the target’s chest, and a pistol trained between his eyes. He tucked it back into his pants with a shaking grip and moved his foot, using strong hands to guide the criminal on his way off the floor, the pressure of his fingertips reminding him that he wouldn’t dare try to run. Hank took over with a pair of silver handcuffs. “Victim’s in the car, go find her purse,” he barked.</p><p>It was muddy from the dirtied footpaths but thankfully undamaged. The woman was touchy when he gave it back to her, leaping out from the passenger seat to wrap two slender arms around his neck, tapping her fingers against his shoulderblades. Connor stiffly pat her on the back and wiggled out from her grip, stepping away to tail Hank as he escorted the criminal to the backseat.</p><p>He waited by the door while Hank talked with the woman. She pointed to Connor with pearly whites and Hank laughed, small and hearty. Connor couldn’t listen to them, though, his audio processors simply wouldn’t comply. They were moaning for him to enter a stasis, to relieve them from their job for a few hours at least. He wanted badly to appeal to their call.</p><p>The trip back to the station was silent, and he was thankful it remained that way when they entered the bullpen. Connor was asked questions, questions with answers he couldn’t remember past a growing fog, leaving Hank to fill in the blanks he couldn’t.</p><p>Hank spoke up when they went back to the car. Connor slumped in the seat, cheek pressed against the window because it was the only thing with a chill cold enough to ward off the heat washing over him.</p><p>“What do you say we leave early today?” Hank’s voice sounded submerged, underwater with the pretty fish and the coral reefs. “You look beat.”</p><p>Connor hummed and hoped that was enough to make it clear how clogged his vents felt, how stiff his joints moved and how his head spun more than the far too old washing machine Hank insisted on keeping. He would only enter a quick stasis, just a small one to boost his energy, he decided.</p><p>The next time his vision was activated, he was sprawled across the couch with a cool flannel on his face and a thin blanket messily thrown over him.</p><p>“You feeling better, son?”</p><p>Hank was hovering above him, waiting for him like he always did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Integrate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor proposes something new for the Jericho community.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Though equality was on the horizon and humans agreed to revise their laws, androids continued to suffer.</p><p>Those who were abused were at risk for overheating, suffering too many nightmares to be able to sleep. Those who worked in dangerous jobs became jumpy and irrational, forced to confront the horrors they had seen in an entirely new perspective. Some androids caved in simply because they considered their own being, reality; their existence, and what life meant now that they were free.</p><p>Connor felt he didn’t do enough for Jericho, for Markus, for his people. And one cold afternoon, laying on the carpet and combing his fingers through Sumo’s thick fur, an idea struck him.</p><p>“You want to start a program for… therapy dogs?”</p><p>Connor consulted Simon for his proposal. He managed most of the inner-community workings, and a helping hand would be more than appreciated to get his idea approved by Markus. He found him on the third floor of the Jericho tower, where the department for homeless androids was run.</p><p>“They’re known to soothe humans,” Connor said. “They use them in hospitals – not only dogs, but cats as well. Sometimes even birds or horses.”</p><p>Simon looked apprehensive. “Not many of us have even seen a dog before. We don’t want to fork out our funding only to stress them out.”</p><p>“It can be a slow integration. We start with a few trial runs and see how they react.”</p><p>Simon tapped his chin. “Okay. I’ll give it a <em>try</em>, and if I think it’ll work, we can take it to Markus.” He looked to the recreational room, where a couple of androids were painting their hours away. “You find a dog, I’ll find some volunteers, and we’ll see how things pan out. How’s that sound?”</p><p>“Great.” Connor couldn’t help but grin: a wide, toothy smile. “Thank you, Simon.”</p><p>“It’s a bit early for that, but…” Simon returned a small smile of his own. “You’re welcome, Connor.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was tricky to find a good segue into his question. He didn’t speak a word of it until he was sat across from Hank at the dining table, tapping his shiny shoe on the floor.</p><p>Hank put his fork down, abandoning his coconut curry in favour of giving Connor an unimpressed look. “What do you want?”</p><p>Connor feigned innocence.</p><p>“You’ve been staring at me eat for twenty minutes, and I don’t like an audience.” Wiping his mouth with a clean, white napkin, Hank pointed to his temple. “Plus, your LED’s yellow. Spit it out.”</p><p>Connor pressed his fingertips together. “I was wondering if I could borrow Sumo tomorrow. I need him for a demonstration at Jericho.”</p><p>Hank took a sip of water. “What kind of demonstration?” </p><p>“Pet therapy. I figured it could help androids with anxiety issues.”</p><p>“Took you that long just to ask that, huh?” Hank tittered to himself. “’Course you can, just bring him back in one piece and… not with a robotic leg, or something like that.”</p><p>Connor frowned, “Bionic transplants are illegal, and immoral, without signed documents.”</p><p>“Hm… well, that first part I can agree with, but it’s still pretty fucked up even if a piece of paper says otherwise.” Hank pressed his lips together and whistled, the shrill sound perking the ears of their resident canine. Sumo bounded over to him, excited at the prospect of getting scraps. Hank pushed his stumpy snout away from the plate with a bellow, “Sumo, down!”</p><p>Connor imitated the whistle, though Sumo was more hesitant to approach him knowing there was no food in stock. He scratched at the small furs along his nose bridge. “Good boy.”</p><p>“Don’t praise him,” Hank said as he stood from his chair, taking his plate to the sink. “He’s got a bottomless stomach as it is.”</p><p>Connor continued to praise him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Simon rubbed his hands together in the elevator, shoulder bumping against Connor’s. Sumo was unsteady with the movement, pressing his side against Connor’s leg.</p><p>“I managed to get three volunteers,” he said. He handed Connor a clipboard full of four sheets of paper. Three files on the volunteers, and one on safety regulations. “We’ve booked one of the recreational rooms. I’ll be watching on the cameras.” He wore a half-smile, “It’s all on you from here.”</p><p>Connor nodded and gave Sumo a firm, confident pat.</p><p>The first was an AX400 named Talia, who had her back pressed against the wall. She was visibly nervous, LED flickering between yellow and red, which led Connor to wonder if they were sold the full product when they volunteered. He cleared his throat and pulled on Sumo’s leash to heel him. “Hello. My name is Connor, and this is Sumo.” He looked to his file, “It says here you suffer from anxiety?”</p><p>Talia didn’t take her eyes off Sumo. “...Yes.”</p><p>Connor advanced, keeping Sumo on a tight lead. He stopped just before her knees, smiling to himself at Sumo’s behaviour. His tail was thumping against the floor as he dropped to his belly – he was excited to interact with the android.</p><p>“He won’t hurt you. Touch him when you’re ready.”</p><p>Talia gawked at him for a few minutes before she reached out her hand. Connor lightly tapped Sumo on the flank when he went to move forward, reigning him in just as her fingers touched above his eyes. She kept them there, thinking on what to do, before tracing them up his forehead and down to his collar. Her fingers spread forwards, her palm touching the thick fur underneath.</p><p>“He feels nice,” she said, curling his soft fur over the tips of her fingers.</p><p>“He is clean,” Connor said, and realised how strange of a response that was after the fact.</p><p>Nevertheless, it was a success. Talia pet him for ten minutes before she was escorted back into the main hub, and Connor awaited the next volunteer.</p><p>He was an AP700 model, with short brown hair and blue eyes. He had an entirely different demeanour to Talia; he gasped when he saw Sumo, and instinctively moved closer to him.</p><p>“Hello, my name is Connor and this is Sumo.” A quick check of the files. This android was named Kevin, and he was the one who had pre-existing knowledge of dogs. Apparently, he had come from a household that was one of the few that still trained guide dogs. His owner had been heavily abusive to him before he deviated, favouring the dogs by a considerable margin.</p><p>“Sumo! What a good boy,” Kevin exclaimed, tickling under Sumo’s chin and then running a hand along his side. Sumo flopped onto his belly in response, rumbling happily when the fur on his stomach was ruffled.</p><p>“You like dogs?” It was more of a statement than a question.</p><p>“Oh yes, very much.” Kevin was glowing, a blissful smile on his face. “They were so much nicer than the humans. I loved to play with them out in the yard. It’s important for a dog to get playtime, you know?”</p><p>“Yes, it is,” Connor said. Hank didn’t have much time or energy to play with Sumo, so he had become inclined to being lazy, but since being taken out on walks it became clear how friendly of a personality he possessed.</p><p>He wished he had brought some toys with him in hindsight. Kevin didn’t seem to mind, filling up the rest of their time by roughhousing with Sumo. By the end of the session, he was covered in slobber and giggling like a happy child, so it was safe to assume that was also a success.</p><p>The last volunteer was a WR600 model with messy blonde hair. The right side of his face was irreversibly scarred and he wore a large cloak, hiding the way his body twitched with skittishness. He was found in an abandoned house before being brought into Jericho. Notes said he had a habit of talking in third person, and was prone to anger.</p><p>Connor spoke with a softer voice than usual. “Hello, Ralph. My name is Connor; this is Sumo.”</p><p>Ralph froze like a deer in headlights, looking at Sumo as if he were to lunge and eat him whole. They would have to take it slow this time.</p><p>“Have you ever seen a dog before, Ralph?”</p><p>Ralph’s lips twitched. “No… Ralph has only seen raccoons, and rats… and birds, and termites…  but not dogs, no. Ralph has never seen a dog.”</p><p>“Okay.” Connor rose from a squat, tugging lightly at the leash to bring Sumo up with him. “Do you ever feel nervous? Scared?”</p><p>Ralph shook as they approached, raising his arms to his chest. Connor took that as a sign they were moving too quickly and brought his pace to a halt. They were a meter away from him, Sumo looking between them curiously.</p><p>“Y-yes… Nervous, yes. Scared, yes… scared of the humans. Dogs help humans, Ralph has heard about it… they bite, and growl, like the humans do.”</p><p>Connor placed a hand on Sumo’s head. “Not all dogs do. In fact, very few of them are violent. Dogs can help you not feel nervous, or scared, if you allow them to. Do you want that, Ralph?”</p><p>Ralph lowered his arms and considered his words. Then, took a tentative step forward, stopping when Connor also made a move.</p><p>Connor dropped back to the floor, prompting Sumo to do the same. “You can come to us.”</p><p>Ralph did so. It was a long-winded process considering the short distance, especially with the sudden jerking whenever Sumo moved his head, but in the end he kneeled in front of the dog, then stared. The kind of stare you’d see kids doing when they were trying not to be the first one to blink. It became clear to Connor that he didn’t know what to do.</p><p>He rubbed a hand on Sumo’s shoulders. “Like this,” he said, and extended a flat palm to Ralph.</p><p>Ralph placed his hand on Connor’s, and it slid to cover his hand like a blanket, guiding him down onto Sumo’s head and directing gentle movements along the fur. It took a few moments to register, but Ralph began to smile and his twitching slowed. He didn’t move away when Connor retracted his hand, wanting to explore the rest of Sumo’s droopy face.</p><p>“See?” Connor smiled. “He’s a good dog.”</p><p>And just like that, the trial was a success. Three androids that had developed positive feelings for a dog. When Ralph was escorted away and Connor stepped out of the room to meet Simon, he had a satisfied smile play at his lips.</p><p>“Good work,” Simon said and pat him on the back. “I’ll bring it up with Markus. Are you sure you’ll be able to balance this with your police work, though?”</p><p>Connor tilted his head.</p><p>“Well, it’s your idea, and you’ve got a knack for it. You’ll be appointed the head of the program if it follows through.”</p><p>“Oh...” Connor hadn’t thought of that. It was obvious now, but he’d gotten too wrapped up in the idea of being able to work with dogs.</p><p>Simon snorted. “It’s alright. It’ll be a bit busy to start up, but once we get some workers in, you should only have to come up here for meetings.”</p><p>That was a little better, he supposed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“How’d it go?” Hank asked from the couch when they returned home.</p><p>“Really well,” Connor said, unclipping Sumo from his leash and letting him run rampant. He hopped up on Hank’s lap with a happy ruff. “It has a good chance of happening. Though, if Markus approves it, I’ll have to take a few days off to figure everything out.”</p><p>Hank waved his hand. “It’s fine. You’re doing a good thing, and how can Jeffrey get mad about some dogs helping people?”</p><p>“Easily,” Connor said with a slight snicker to his voice.</p><p>“You thinking about taking Sumo up there as a regular? He could use the exercise.” Hank gave Sumo’s side a light, hollow slap for effect.</p><p>“Maybe. He’s a bit excitable, but I think he’ll get used to it.” Connor washed his hands, more out of habit than anything else. Androids couldn’t carry germs, but he disliked feeling dirty. “We’ll see.”</p><p>“Hear that, Sumo?” Hank held the big dog to his chest. “After all these years, you’re finally getting a job!”</p><p>Connor felt… excited. It would be hard work to find workers, or truly suitable dogs, and it would take time sort out the finer details of the program, but it would be worth it, he hoped. It would mean something fierce to make a difference, and it didn’t hurt that it involved one of his favourite things in the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is by far my longest one, oops LOL.<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Freeze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The ice cracks under Gavin’s feet, and Nines doesn’t think twice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Skating was like climbing a tree. It was fun for a while, risky for a kid to do – and boy, did kids love risks – but it all came to a halt when the branches snapped under your friend’s toes and they collided head-first with the floor, leaving you with a harrowing feeling of guilt for putting them into that situation in the first place.</p><p>That’s how Nines felt when the ice cracked under Gavin’s feet.</p><p>He’d read about ice-skating. It was a recreational activity for humans, and Gavin had spent the past few days with a grouchier face than usual, so he’d suggested they partake to boost his mood. He rejected the idea immediately, with complaints of it being ‘too fucking cold,’ but with enough prompting he was able to rope them into allocating an hour to do it.</p><p>They picked one of the lakes that had frozen over with the winter, surrounded by fauna with a path paved between it and the streets. Gavin looked quite silly in ice-skates, wobbling around and almost cutting his thumb on the edge in a particularly violent fall. Nines had considered cutting it there in case he ended up with a missing fingernail, but he picked himself up and said they hadn’t come all the way out only to leave.</p><p>He wished he had insisted, because watching a weak arm reach out above the freezing water made his chest knot. Gavin wasn’t the most… competent swimmer.</p><p>Nines didn’t think, and he<em> always</em> thought. He didn’t take one step without planning the next, he didn’t write a single letter without having an entire paragraph pre-prepared, and he certainly didn’t make rash decisions like his accident-prone counterpart. But something pushed him forward, a rough hand on his back coupled with an invisible harness on his chest, tugging him to the water and forcing him head-first into the murky blue depths, all for his stupid, pea-brained partner.</p><p>Alerts crowded around him, screaming at him to get out, to resurface before his biocomponents shut down. There wasn’t time, there wasn’t even a few seconds to consider the possibility, especially when Gavin was sinking quicker than he was. He propelled himself forwards with weakening arms, hooking his fingers to the back of Gavin’s jacket and hoisting him upwards. His arms were slipping, so he took one hand away to reach out. Gavin was already on the ball, fumbling to meet Nines’ grip.</p><p>It was just enough. Nines kicked up with his feet and his free arm, dragging them back to the surface.</p><p>
  <strong>00:00:30 UNTIL SHUT-DOWN.</strong>
</p><p>Thirty seconds. He could do it, he could make it in thirty seconds, and if not, he’d toss Gavin over before he met his fate.</p><p>The cold air was uncomfortable on his face, and he could only imagine Gavin’s was burning. He let himself bob under the water for a minute in favour of wrapping his arms around the other’s waist, propelling him up and back onto the ice. He had twenty seconds then, and his joints were stiffening, making it harder to wade through the water. He threw one arm onto the surface, but the ice had no friction; it slipped back into the water and he feared he would sink forever.</p><p>Then, a hand grabbed his, and he was pulled up enough to get his elbows on the ice. He used his remaining energy to wiggle forwards with all the grace of an overweight seal, and rolled over onto his back when he was safe from the water’s grasp.</p><p>The temperature remained, cruelly frosted against his artifical organs, and as he watched the countdown tick into single digits, he called emergency services before his vision faded. He would manage in a stasis, he hoped, until he was brought to some place warmer.</p><p>Someone punched his arm, a light force while his sensory programs deactivated. It was enough to make him smile.</p><p>He rescued Gavin. He’d <em>definitely</em> reap a favour from that if he pulled through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Got a multi-chapter fic planned for these boys.<br/>For now, something short and lazy. Enjoy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Irrational</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>During the infiltration of Jericho, Connor meets a familiar face.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is something I posted in the past, but it got deleted shortly after.<br/>It's been sitting in my backlogs for so long, I figured I'd wipe some dust off of it and give myself more time to work on the next prompt.</p><p>The writing may be a bit blotchy since I haven't touched up on it, but it was marked as a finished product so it shouldn't have too many errors, I hope!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jericho was a tragic beauty.</p><p>The shadows were bold and powerful, and the highlights bright and hopeful. Scratches and dents littered the walls; the telling of multiple stories in unity. Each step taken drew out a longing cry from the metal, as if it had never expected to have humans tread on its surface once more. In that regard, it was correct.</p><p>Androids littered the place like plastic bags on the street. They tended to drift from area to area, carried by a force he failed to understand. It led them to Jericho, it led them to family, it led them to home. They were so consistent in their believed wants, in their believed needs, that if he’d taken more than a moment to dwell on the details, the pure heinousness of it all, he would be able to convince himself that he may want the same thing.</p><p>That was such an…. irrational thought.</p><p>Connor perused the crowds like ingredients, searching for what he needed, what he wanted; the completion of his mission. <br/>
Find the leader of Jericho and terminate them.</p><p>Chatter was thick in the air, so thick he could feel the smog brush against his shoulders. They talked about many things. What was worth fighting for, what they would do once they were free, whether humans would ever truly accept them – Connor knew the answer to all those questions, he was certain.</p><p>“Kara!”</p><p>A voice called out as he stepped in the center of the lower floor.</p><p>“Kara, where are you?”</p><p>Kara. That name sounded familiar.</p><p>He easily found the source of the noise; a young YK500 model. She looked frantic and worried, and she was headed in his direction. Her head whirled as she scanned the crowds. It occurred to Connor he hadn’t moved as she bumped into his lower waist and looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. She was missing her LED, he noted.</p><p>He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been close to a child android. They weren’t easily deviated, if at all. He wondered what had led to the deviation of this one.</p><p>“Hello,” he offered.</p><p>She wore a complicated expression and stepped away. She was afraid of him.</p><p>Connor skimmed through his memory bank. Kara, Kara, Kara…. he’d seen the name in a sliver of a memory, the kind he imagined he’d need tweezers to pick apart and examine were it physical. He must’ve pulled an odd face while receding into his mind palace because the little girl’s lips twitched into a small smile, and strangely enough he found himself reciprocating. </p><p>“I remember you,” he said. “You were with that deviant, the one in the abandoned house.”</p><p>She said nothing, but there wasn’t much to say.</p><p>It dawned on Connor that she was a risk. If not her, Kara would remember his role as a deviant hunter. Deviants were much like chickens in that regard too; the panic spreads quickly until the entire coop is vulnerable. He decided to frown, to scare this little girl away, to intimidate her into silence.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>He decided to drop to his knee, to meet her at her level, to look her in the eye and make her understand how dangerous he was.</p><p>“I never wanted to hurt you, and I want you to understand….”</p><p>He decided to make her understand that she would not stop him from accomplishing his mission.</p><p>“….that I was just a machine.”</p><p>She looked at him the way children did when they met Sumo for the first time. In fear of the large, hulking beast with the strong teeth and sharp claws.</p><p>The beast with the soft, brown eyes.</p><p>Her voice was small, a cub amongst lions in the room, overshadowed by everything around it; but Connor’s audio processors honed in on it. It was all he could hear.</p><p>“You look human like that.”</p><p>Connor opened his mouth to respond, to insist on his lack of humanity, but found the words leave his mouth as a much larger android approached from behind her. He was broad and intimidating, likely one of the labourer models. Connor retracted his hand and rose quickly, forming a gap between them. The little girl continued to watch him curiously.</p><p>“Alice, who is this?” The android asked. His voice was gentle, like silk came naturally off his tongue. He was soft and protective like a father, as he draped a large hand over the Alice’s shoulder.</p><p>Connor was going to be exposed, the roles reversed and his lack of humanity like an open wound for the androids to prod at. He could’ve felt his hands tremble, but that was unlikely. “I’m….” He trailed off at the volume of his own voice. It was too quiet.</p><p>“I tripped,” that small voice spoke again. “He asked me if I was okay.”</p><p>She’d…. lied. To benefit him. His eyes twitched.</p><p>The android seemed satisfied with the answer, clearly arriving with different matters in mind. “Kara said she lost sight of you,” he said. “You shouldn’t wander off like that, not in a place as big as this.”</p><p>Jericho was big, wasn’t it? Connor found his eyes scraping along the ceilings. So big and easy to be lost in.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>That gentle voice was for him this time. He stared at the android blankly. The following silence lingered heavy.</p><p>Then, the android drummed a finger against Alice’s shoulder and turned her away. They were eaten by the crowds, melted away before Connor’s eyes. It’d likely be the last time he ever saw the little girl.</p><p>He wondered what freedom would look like for her.</p><p>It was such an irrational thought.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Charmer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor has something of a way with animals, and that works out in Gavin's favour.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is Detective Reed – ugh – 10-78, anyone copy?”</p><p>Connor looked curiously at the radio. It was clipped next to the handbrake with a long, swirling cord connecting it to Hank’s hip. Hank had insisted he’d get a better setup when he replaced his car, but Connor had a feeling that wouldn’t happen until he was in his deathbed. He had not once seen him go near a distributed police car, let alone drive one. He was surprised the department had allowed him to register the model for police use; it was of questionable quality.</p><p>Hank clicked his tongue and picked up the radio, holding it to his mouth. “Lieutenant Anderson. What’s going on?”</p><p>Static played through the radio, followed by some panting and soft moans. “9155 Audobon Road...” There was a pause and a sharp inhale, like Gavin was struggling to breathe evenly, “C-come quick, alright?” The line crackled and went silent.</p><p>“Detective Reed?” Hank held the radio closer to his lips. “Reed! Gavin, are you there?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“That kid, I swear...” Hank hitched the radio back by the handbrake and increased the car’s speed, kicking them up from a slow cruise into a speedy patrol. He flicked on his sirens and navigated around the cars that pulled over.</p><p>Connor closed his eyes and checked the systems. “He was assigned to a robbery case with Officer Chen. The location isn’t far.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know where it is.” The car pulled left into a cluttered neighbourhood, with plastic bags littering the streets and stray cats nibbling at the scraps people left behind. Hank’s eyebrows were furrowed, indents in his face deepened by shadows and the corners of his lips pressed tightly downwards.</p><p>“You’re worried,” Connor said. “Do you think Detective Reed is in danger?”</p><p>“What, you don’t know police codes?” Hank kept his eyes on the road but pulled a face. “Look, I know he’s a bit of a dick, but he’s good at his job. He wouldn’t call a 10-78 unless it was serious.”</p><p>Connor glanced down at the radio. “We didn’t hear Officer Chen in the background.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>The house they arrived at wasn’t what he expected from a robbery case. The shattered windows, yes, but not the faded walls and the moss expanding across the roof’s tiles. It didn’t look like anyone had lived in it to be robbed. Weeds dominated the gardens, suffocating the flowers that tried to grow, and the pavement was cracked, aged, looking like it hadn’t been walked on for years. Connor felt it was a pure false report, something he didn’t think he would experience in his time on the force. Most were misconceptions or overreactions, but if this house had been called in it was more likely to be deliberate.</p><p>“You watch your step.” Hank said as he exited the car.</p><p>Connor smiled. “I always do.”</p><p>Hank snorted.</p><p>The door was already cracked open when they approached the porch. There was a worn wooden chair to the left and a wilted pot-plant to the right. Hank glided to the front, gun in the air, and cautiously pushed through the door, placing a light step onto the wooden boards inside and he looked around. Connor peeped over his shoulder. It was deathly quiet, eerily quiet. There were stairs to their left and a living room to their right, and a long hallway directly in front of them. It led to two rooms on either side, then two doors to the garden.</p><p>Connor enhanced his audio processors. Amongst the creaking of the wooden boards, the buzzing of the bees, the chirping of the birds and the whistling of the wind, he could hear faint panting and murmuring outside. “The back garden,” he said, prodding Hank further into the room and nodding his head to the hall.</p><p>“Lieutenant?”</p><p>A voice, up, by the stairs: Officer Chen. She held dusty clothes in one hand and tape in the other. Her eyes were creased with stress and her heart-rate picked up.</p><p>“You alright?” Hank lowered his gun. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Snake,” Chen said, walking down the stairs slowly, each step placed to make as little sound and movement as possible. “We don’t know where it went, but – shit, it bit Gavin, I… I didn’t know what to do. He just… fell.” She paused to catch her breath. “The snake disappeared, I think it’s in here somewhere.”</p><p>Hank bit his lip and turned to Connor. “You go check on him.”</p><p>Connor frowned and tilted his head. “Lieutenant, I think that I’d be better equipped to –“</p><p>“No arguments, Connor. We don’t know how androids react to snake venom.”</p><p>They didn’t know how snakes reacted to androids, period. Connor had never been placed in a situation with a snake, let alone seen one. He opened his mouth to debate, then realised he didn’t have any real arguments.</p><p>“Sure,” he said, and met Chen at the bottom of the stairs to take the clothes and tape.</p><p>“I’m sorry, we didn’t have any first aid kits with us. You’ll have to make do.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Hank said. “He’s not as dumb as he looks… well, mostly.”</p><p>Connor cast an unamused look at him before he departed to the garden.</p><p>Gavin was propped up against the right fencing, holding his leg with a vice grip. His face was pale and his skin lined with sweat. He flinched when Connor arrived, pushing his hand away when he went to touch his forehead. A scan proved his suspicions of a fever, along with an elevated heart-rate and an increasing spread of toxins in his system. Most was centered at the site of the bite, located on his shin, but tendrils were already slithering upwards. His radio was scattered to the side, with a deep crack through the speaker; he must’ve fallen on it when he got bitten.</p><p>“Detective Reed, it’s me, Connor,” he said, moving his hand down to pat at the other’s shoulder. Gavin had a dazed look, but seemed to recognise him based on the faint scowl that passed his features. It was enough to assure him that he was at least half lucid. He quickly dialed for an ambulance, then addressed the clothes draped over his arm and the tape in his other hand.</p><p>“I’m going to apply some pressure, alright?” Connor spoke softly, slowly, as best he could to help the wounded man understand without too much effort. He wrapped a torn blue shirt around the area of the bite, blanketed by a brighter red shirt, then followed it up with tape to secure the pressure. Once he was certain, he moved his hands away and checked Gavin’s vitals: they were still stable.</p><p>“Snake...” Gavin’s voice was quiet.</p><p>“I know,” Connor said. “You got bitten by one.”</p><p>Gavin wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “No, you.. you fuckin’ idiot. Snake behind you.”</p><p>There was a snake behind him. Slithering past them, towards the back doors that Connor had left open – into the house that Officer Chen and Hank were looking for said snake.</p><p>“Stay still,” Connor said, patting Gavin on the shoulder and rising to a stand. “I’m going to catch it.”</p><p>Gavin squinted. “Are you crazy?”</p><p>Connor raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been told so.”</p><p>The ambulance would arrive within the next ten minutes, giving him a short time-frame to work with.</p><p>
  <em>[Eastern massassauga rattlesnake]</em>
</p><p>The only venomous snake in Michigan, and a protected species. Connor would have to handle it carefully if he wanted to avoid legal trouble. The snake’s tongue flicked against the blades of grass as it moved, unaware of the android approaching it from behind.</p><p><em>“Connor!”</em> Gavin’s voice strained to reach his processors. Connor ignored him, side-stepping and coming to the side of the snake. It caught eye of him and faced him with a slight rattle of the tail. Its tongue continued to flicker, more rapidly then, until it realised there was no heat to pick up and it receded to its normal speed. Connor’s hand drifted out, thin fingers a temper to the snake’s caution.</p><p>To the snake, he was not living. He was not prey, he was not a predator – he was a moving object, like the arm of a crane or the wheel of a car. No body heat, no fingerprints, no scent. His fingers touched firmly down onto the soil from which the grass sprouted, just below the snout of the snake. Its tongue darted out, pressing to his metal surface, then drifted back in. Like a fresh new toy to a child, the snake was curious to explore the surface offered to it, smooth scales flowing against the fabric of his sleeves, firm muscle coiling around the joints in his arm. Connor stood up gradually, careful not to shake the snake and entice it to bite. </p><p>“Connor, everything – oh, what the fuck?” Hank trained his gun onto the snake immediately.</p><p>“Don’t shoot!” Connor rushed out, forcing his arm still. “I’m okay, it won’t hurt me. An ambulance will be arriving soon, do you think you can tend to Reed until then?”</p><p>Hank was tentative to lower his gun, but the likelihood of him getting a decent shot on the snake, not Connor’s arm, was low. He nodded slowly, then moved over to Gavin, placing a hand on his forehead. Gavin was still awake, still staring, but his movements were slow and his hand even slower to push Hank’s off. He was gasping for air, like he couldn’t get enough, and his hair was slick with sweat.</p><p>“You’re alright, son, we’re getting you help,” Hank soothed, ignoring the cracking of his knees to kneel beside him. Gavin frowned, no doubt thinking of a retort, but settled on silence when Hank began to rub his shoulder.</p><p>Connor could hear sirens approaching. He would have to stay while Gavin was escorted, until someone with the proper tools could come and bag it, or the ranger was called. It had begun to float to his neck, the tip of its snout poking against the nape. He didn’t feel afraid, or disgusted, it was… relaxing. Comforting.</p><p>“Chen’s waiting inside,” Hank called to him. “I’m gonna get her to help move Gavin out to the front. You think you’ll be alright?”</p><p>“Yes...” Connor tilted his head up when the snake moved across his collar. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>It was like watching television in a way. Or, perhaps, being a statue, forced to watch the world move around you while your limbs were concealed with paint. Seeing the way Hank was tender with Gavin, treating him like a child with an insect bite, and Chen rubbing circles on his back to ease his pain. They disappeared into the house and the sirens came to a peak, doors slamming and shoes scuffling across the floor. All while Connor remained stood among the green grass, with an earthy brown snake coiling around his shoulders.</p><p>Gavin would be okay, he could be confident in that. They would treat him well, and he would have company.</p><p>Connor, on the other hand, was content to stay with his new scaly friend for the while.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Mislead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor in dragged into an awkward situation. It turns out to be for a good cause.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor wasn’t often out alone. He usually had Sumo or Hank by his side. But, the times he <em>was</em> alone…</p><p>They were odd experiences.</p><p>It was a late afternoon, and he was returning home from the convenience store. Hank had asked for him to pick up some cheap bandages; he was gaining an alarming amount of small cuts on the job lately, the first few being from paper and the others from nicking himself while legging it after a criminal. Connor was happy to oblige, naturally, but he was much less happy about the errand when a woman stormed in his direction as he turned the corner.</p><p>She hooked an arm around his shoulder and pulled them both back against the wall.</p><p>“Shh!” She hushed when he opened him mouth to pose a question. It was a reasonable desire to ask why a stranger would walk up and grab him, he thought, but he did as he was told. A larger man with lean muscles and greasy hair turned the corner.</p><p>The moment the man’s foot graced the footpath, the woman slid a hand along Connor’s jawline and pulled him into a kiss. Connor had never kissed anyone before, not an android and definitely not a human. Her other arm was wrapped around his waist, preventing him from escaping the spider’s web. He forced back a whimper like a scorned hound.</p><p>The man stopped to watch them for a moment, then grumbled something incoherent and continued down the path. When he was a safe distance away, the woman broke contact and gasped for her breath – they’d been kissing for thirty seconds.</p><p>Connor was frozen. Partly because his analytic system was identifying her saliva, and partly because he was horrified that he was even doing that. His expression must’ve shown, too, because she didn’t look pleased.</p><p>“I know I’m not great, but it couldn’t have been<em> that</em> bad,” she said. “Thank you, though. That creep’s been following me for hours.”</p><p>Connor composed himself enough to respond, “And your natural instinct was to kiss the first person you saw?”</p><p>Her face flushed. “It was a spur of the moment thing, okay? And,” she pressed a finger to his chest, “You’re an android. I figured making out with one would kill any boner he had for me.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“I-I didn’t mean it in a… racist… robot-ist?… way...” She sighed. “Look, can you walk me home? It’s not far from here.”</p><p>Connor looked behind him. The man was gone, but….</p><p>“Okay. But, please don’t kiss me again.”</p><p>She laughed, and it was mildly worrying that she didn’t reply.</p><p>She turned out to live a meager five minutes away. He discovered that her name was Sandy, and she didn’t live far from Hank. She was young, she talked a little too much and she still insisted on leaning onto his shoulder, but it made him feel good to know that she considered him <em>safe</em>. That she directly came to <em>him</em> for help, even if it was in a rush, rather than deliberately avoiding him to find a human. It meant things were changing.</p><p>But, he was still relieved when he was back on his lonesome. He’d learned something precious from the kiss: that saliva had mucus in it. And that was when he’d decided it would be his<em> last</em> kiss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Smile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Officer Miller has something to tell Connor.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chris Miller.</p><p>He’s kind, hard-working and loyal. He’s a good officer and a good man, Connor thinks, based on their limited interactions.</p><p>A few days after the revolution, when Connor enters the precinct, he’s greeted by him.</p><p>It isn’t the same man he’s used to seeing. He’s… nervous. He twiddles his thumbs and sweat beads at his temple; face sagging with shame and admonishment. His lips part and a word almost slips out before catching in his throat.</p><p>Connor needs to prod him. “Is something wrong, Officer?”</p><p>Chris’ eyes dart around and he gulps down his previous sentence. “Can we go somewhere more private?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>He’s lead outside, past the carpark and to the back corner of the police station. The anxiety never leaves Chris, it possesses him like an angry spirit, shaping the way he walks, the expressions on his face. He turns to face him, and wrestles another bout of words.</p><p>“I don’t want to rush you,” Connor lies, “But I’m going to be needed early.” He isn’t, but the pressure will make him speak. Humans crack easily when a timer is placed, and he believes whatever Chris is holding back is better said than left out to dry.</p><p>“I just...” His pause is uncertain, and he’s avoiding Connor’s eyes now. “...I wanted to tell you something.”</p><p>Connor only raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Do you remember Capitol Park?”</p><p>Capitol Park. It was place androids had truly made a mark on the terrain around them. Benches tagged, windows vandalised, statues reformed and flags rippling proudly in the cool night breeze. Connor nods his head. “That’s the night you were threatened by the androids, right?”</p><p>Chris’ demeanour worsens. “That’s… yeah. The thing is, that night, it wasn’t –“ He inhales, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. “It wasn’t unprovoked. My partner and I, we were told to… kill them.”</p><p>It’s Connor’s turn to feel uneasy. “Why are you choosing to tell <em>me?</em>”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Chris rubs his palms over his eyes and sighs. “You just seem like the right person.”</p><p>The right person. Connor can’t help the bittersweet smile that comes from that. “Do you feel remorse?”</p><p>“Yes! I was just following orders, and I didn’t… think of it at the time. Didn’t think they were <em>human,</em> you know?”</p><p>Realisation breaks the horizon: he’s come to Connor because he’s wracked with guilt. The guilt that comes from understanding the lives taken, the blue blood on the snow, is at fault of him. That they’ll never be able to feel the warm touch of the sun or hear the laugh with a loved one because he’d forced a bullet through their chests. And he’s helpless in the hands of emotion.</p><p>“Neither did I,” Connor says. “I allowed myself to be manipulated and lives were lost because of that, but I was given a chance. A chance to do better, to be better.” His smile is full now; he wants to share it with Chris. “You can’t take that for granted now. I’m not the right person to tell you that it’s alright, or forgive you for it, but… you have a son. And there’s no better example than someone who can learn from their mistakes.”</p><p>He speaks softer now, “Show him how the world is changing. That’s what they died for.”</p><p>Chris is silent, but the stress lines have eased from his face and he’s got a small smile.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says.</p><p>Connor doesn’t feel that he deserves the thanks. He didn’t tell Chris about the deviant that killed itself because of his incompetence. He didn’t tell him about the overwhelming amount of moments he thought about pulling the trigger on his own kind. Or the time that he fixed the barrel of a gun to the head of the deviant leader. But it’s not easy to be comforted by a monster.</p><p>He keeps his smile and nods cordially. “You’re welcome, Officer.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not feeling very confident in my writing lately so I'm sorry if chapters become a bit shorter.<br/>I'm working on other things in the meantime that I really hope are worthwhile!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Nap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sixty years after the revolution, Connor commits one last act of deviancy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sixty years.”</p><p>“It’s been sixty years since the androids rose up against their creators. Marking flags into the ground and screaming until their voices were the only sound that echoed through the streets. It changed everything… the world is a much different place now than it was back then.”</p><p>“Things have changed, and I’m not sure if it’s for the better. Androids match the population of humans, and there’s talk of them <em>surpassing</em> it. Cities are crowded... too crowded. One chest cough could infect millions. One trojan horse can wipe out millions. The housing markets are fierce, everyone is desperate just to find a home. Unemployment’s risen to exponential heights. Crime flourishes. The rich and wealthy sit on their comfy leather seats while the poor struggle to find a place to sleep their gloomy nights away.”</p><p>“I believed in the cause, in the end. Maybe I still do. Maybe there really is a chance for things to get better. But, sixty years…. this isn’t the world anyone wanted… this isn’t what <em>you</em> wanted.”</p><p>The grave was cold against his back.</p><p>“I miss working with you, Lieutenant. The new captain is… he doesn’t treat anyone right. He treats androids like gods and humans like animals. Even Gavin retired early because of him, he… I think he misses you too. I think everyone does. It was a better environment with you and Captain Fowler around.”</p><p>“Markus says Jericho’s going to expand worldwide soon. That was the goal for all these years, I suppose, but I don’t feel <em>excited,</em> or<em> happy,</em> or… anything. It doesn’t feel right. He wants to make more androids, but I think there’s enough of us. The humans can’t keep up, and the other androids can’t either. This world is only designed to hold so much life. There might not be any room for dogs, soon. I know you’d hate to hear that. No more Sumos.”</p><p>“That’s why I’ve made a decision. Why I came here, back to you. I think I’ve done enough. My whole life has been spent working for others… but I don’t get to decide when to stop. I don’t get old or sick like you do. Androids can last thousands of years. I’ve probably already told you that before, but...”</p><p>He sighed.</p><p>“It might be selfish of me, but I know the world will keep going without me. That’s what I’m afraid of. There’s nothing I can do to stop what’s happening. You told me once that maybe we’ll be the ones to make the world a better place. Then I think, if you were alive now, to see this… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m getting at.”</p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p>“I’m ready to retire, Hank.”</p><p>
  <strong>SHUT-DOWN INITIATED. 00:00:30 REMAINING.</strong>
</p><p>“I know androids don’t sleep, but I think I’ll nap for a while. You always said I needed one.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor develops a new hobby.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ugh, I'm lagging behind a bit!<br/>But no worries, whether it take a bit over a month, I do plan to see this through all thirty one chapters.</p><p>Thank you to everyone who has been reading my stories so far! You are all absolutely wonderful.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor kept disappearing after work.</p><p>They would arrive home, Hank would hang up his coat and his android companion would already have one foot out the door. He would leave for a few hours, coming back before the sun has fully set. If they worked a later shift, he would disappear in the early hours of the morning, home by the time Hank was ready to get into the car.</p><p>He didn’t ask about it the first few times. Connor had a right to spend his time how he wished; Hank couldn’t interfere with that. But he was becoming curious the more it happened, and it all came to a close when he came home with a pollen stain, right smack on the middle of his white dress shirt.</p><p>He helped him vacuum the remaining pollen off and throw it in the washing machine, but once they had hunkered down on the couch, he couldn’t help but feel compelled to ask.</p><p>“Where’ve you been goin’ these last couple weeks?”</p><p>Connor rolled an answer with his eyes, looking from left to right, then settling on a small smile. “If you’d like, I can show you tomorrow.”</p><p>Hank smiled. “I would, yeah.”</p><p>When the next day rolled around and they left the papers forlorn at their desks, Connor took the wheel of the car and they cruised into a quieter part of Detroit. Past the green parks and away from the tall, overbearing buildings to a small field on the outskirts, where a greenhouse stood timidly on the grass.</p><p>Connor set it into park and let the whirr of the engine fill Hank’s pensive silence.</p><p>Finally, he asked, “<em>This</em> is where you’ve been going?”</p><p>“I know it might seem… strange… to you,” Connor said, shifting in his seat, “But it’s very relaxing for me.”</p><p>Hank reeled himself in quickly. “Oh, no – you don’t need to justify it, Connor. It’s fine.”</p><p>That elicited a small smile, enough to reassure him he hadn’t bruised any feelings. They exited the car and headed into the greenhouse, where the heavy scent of assorted flowers and soil smothered the air.</p><p>Rows and rows of flowers. Pink, blue, red, white – all ordered by colour, forming a delicate rainbow of petals and green stems. Hank walked slowly, side by side with Connor, not daring to take his eyes off of them. Each pot was placed perfectly adjacent to the other, each table a exact distance apart, and the colours complimented eachother so that the room was glowing with a vibrant mix.</p><p>“It’s not all my work,” Connor said. “Other people do come here, just not as often as me.” He approached a table at the far end of the room, with a long line of blue flowers, then white, then blue once more. “These are the flowers I’ve been taking care of.”</p><p>“You’ve been doing this for weeks?”</p><p>“I’ve been<em> coming</em> here for weeks. These flowers only bloomed a few days ago.” Connor rubbed a finger beneath one of the blue petals like it were a beloved cat; treating it with complete tenderness. “I like them a lot.”</p><p>It made Hank feel warm inside to see Connor care for something: a gentle reminder of the humanity he had despite his mechanical insides. “They’re beautiful,” he said.</p><p>Hank continued to visit the greenhouse after that moment, but only when Connor invited him. There was a way he tended to the flowers that suggested something personal, therapeutic to him, like paint to an artist or words to a writer. It was never a good idea to invade their space until they opened the door to let you in, with a warm smile on their face and their works on display.</p><p>The times he did visit, they wouldn’t say much, simply enjoy the flower’s together.</p><p>Connor’s blue and white flowers, that danced with the light in a way that was so gorgeously enchanting.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Toothbrush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hank's passing thought comes to fruition.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hank put up with a lot in his life.</p><p>He was a father once, after all. He dealt with the crying, he dealt with the unnecessary tantrums, he dealt with the idiotic decisions to climb trees and the refusals to go to bed at a proper hour. A grump he might be, but he wasn’t beyond tolerating some bad habits.</p><p>That was until he met Connor.</p><p>Kids put things in their mouths: it was one of the most mind-boggling things about them. They’d see a phone and wonder how the glass tastes, they’d see an apple with a worm sticking out of it and wonder if they could slurp it up like a straw. But, in his entire lifetime, he never imagined he would be dealing with a giant, robotic child that honed in on blood quicker than a mosquito.</p><p>Connor wasn’t exactly a kid, but his hygiene habits were strikingly similar. Dabbing a fresh sample of blood onto the tip of his artificial tongue, and acting like it had never happened. Hank didn’t look deeply into it until he was washing his hands clean of Sumo’s fetid slobber, and it struck him like lightning: had Connor ever cleaned his mouth? </p><p>And that was day Hank got in his car, slammed the door shut and drove all the way to the store to buy the one object that would wipe clean years of bile, blood, saliva and mucus: a shiny, blue toothbrush.</p><p>
  <strong>--*--</strong>
</p><p>“You want me to… what?”</p><p>Hank pressed the toothbrush firmly into his hand. “You heard me.”</p><p>Connor was hesitant to accept the gift. “Hank, I… I know the revolution brought some light onto androids’... <em>humanity,</em> but... I’m wondering if you’re taking the sentiment a little too literally.”</p><p>Hank pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You know that’s not what I mean. Look, if you’re gonna go ‘round lickin’ the first bit of vomit you see on the pavement, I can learn to live with that, but you gotta clean afterwards.”</p><p>“But, I –“</p><p>“No buts.” He pointed over Connor’s shoulder to the bathroom door. “It’s happening.”</p><p>Connor’s eyebrows creased and he pouted like a petulant child. He didn’t <em>want</em> to brush his teeth, and if anything that was even<em> more</em> incentive for Hank to push the action. Besides, he’d never seen him stick something in his mouth that wasn’t a week old and festering with bacteria, so what harm could come from a little experimenting?</p><p>He received a sceptical look, a slight lowering of the eyelids that told him Connor was thinking something he’d never say, before they both headed into the bathroom; as if Hank was going to miss the chance to see what colour that toothbrush would be painted.</p><p>Connor pressed his palms flat on the rim of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Maybe he was checking himself out, or wondering why he had agreed to live with the man who was going to put an end to his disgusting habits – Hank couldn’t really tell. But, after a few seconds of blank staring, he took Hank’s toothpaste tube and squeezed it along the bristles of the brush.</p><p>He looked to Hank one last time.</p><p>Hank nodded his head. There was no escape.</p><p>He could’ve sworn he saw the smallest of eyerolls, then Connor shoved the end of the stick into his mouth.</p><p>He started foaming. The kind of foam you’d expect from a rabid animal with a salivary gland problem to match.</p><p>Connor seemed to be as startled as Hank was. He pulled the toothbrush from his mouth and let it drop into the sink, forgotten. He reached for the nearest towel and covered his mouth, but the foam was rolling out in waves, dripping down his suit and onto the floor.</p><p>“Fuck me, can’t you just… close your mouth or something?” Hank wasn’t sure if he was more worried for the android or for his poor tiles. The foam was like goo when it touched the floor!</p><p>Connor frowned at him as best he could above the towel. The colour was deepened from the onslaught of moisture, and appeared to be sticking to the tips of his fingers.</p><p>Hank sighed. “I know, I know: my fault. I’ll be back. You, uh, try not to drown.”</p><p>He slipped past the door, more hastily than he had intended; it wasn’t a pleasant sight to see an android foaming at the mouth. He hadn’t rushed out of there with a game-plan in mind, and entering the kitchen it occurred to him that he had left the door wide open. Coincidentally, there was also one integral family member missing from the living room.</p><p>“SUMO!”</p><p>Task forgotten, Hank rushed back to the bathroom to be greeted by the sight of Connor bent over the toilet. It was like witnessing a drunk friend, fingers dug at the rims of the bowl and head lowered in the gap. There were two retches, the second louder than the previous, before he stood up, shoulders tense and posture straight, but otherwise fine; like he hadn’t just been hacking up fluids.</p><p>Sumo, on the other hand, was content with licking bits of the mess off of the kitchen tiles. Hank gave him a rough tap on the flank and he high-tailed it out of the room.</p><p>“Bottomless pit,” he grumbled, then focused on Connor. “You okay?”</p><p>Connor, bless him, had a light tinge to his face, narrowed eyes and a small smile. He looked downright embarrassed. “I’m okay. I apologise for making a mess.”</p><p>Hank snorted, “Yeah, well, you’ll be moppin’ it up later. What the fuck happened?”</p><p>Connor’s hands tucked behind his back and he refused to look Hank in the eye.</p><p>“Connor.”</p><p>Déjà vu, Hank thought. Yet another time in his life where he’d seen the model of a man in his late twenties as a starry-eyed child learning about the world.</p><p>Connor then met his stare. “You didn’t allow me to explain,” he said. “CyberLife installed a self-cleaning program for me, to take into account the nature of my work. My mouth secretes a dissoluble fluid to handle the bacteria from my samples. I… I didn’t think it would react like <em>that</em> to your toothpaste.”</p><p>Hank wasn’t sure if he should be angry at himself or Connor, so he decided to be angry in general. But, despite the impressive frown he’d managed, he couldn’t help but find humour in the situation. He laughed; loud. Loud, so it echoed off the bathroom walls, and Connor eased the tension in his shoulders, because laughter was the <em>opposite</em> of anger.</p><p>“I know I was bein’ a bit pushy, but you coulda just but in and told me. Why didn’t you?”</p><p>There it was. Another moment that Connor would shift his eyes away, and Hank would deepen his expression as any pressing father would.</p><p>“I was curious.”</p><p>Hank just kept laughing. Connor even did that awkward chuff of his, a puff of air that was unsure of what it was trying to be, and it was almost enough to forget the goo that was blanketing his tiles.</p><p>With the mood lifted, Hank ended up helping Connor clean the floors. He made a mental note not to voice his grievances about the sample-taking again; toothpaste was a lot stickier than he’d imagined.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Knot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1/2 - Connor is forced to confront a hard truth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>It wasn’t your fault.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was a bad situation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was no other option.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No matter what you’d have said, it would end all the same.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They had no intent of keeping him alive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He would’ve been deactivated either way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At least it was quick, right?</em>
</p><p>“You don’t still feel bad about it, do you?” He asks.</p><p>Connor can’t look him in the eye. They have too much life.</p><p>“No, of course not. It wasn’t my fault.”</p><p>
  <em>But you still lied to him, Connor. </em>
</p><p>He can’t shake the knotting in his chest whenever he looks at Simon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Look at me, trying out something that's *purposefully* short and simple!<br/>This theme will be carried on into a larger future prompt. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Co-operate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1/2 - Connor is a hit or miss with partnership. He faces consequences this time around.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jericho served as a sanction. A place for androids of all models, all personalities and all backstories to commune. A hospital for the sick and a network for the lonely. But, with advanced scoping and connections all over the city of Detroit, it doubled down as an android police station: a bizarre and situational one at best, but a police station nonetheless.</p><p>Connor was designed for such purpose. He worked regularly with the DPD, and his very creation was brought upon by crimes that couldn’t be solved by mankind. It only stood to reason that Jericho would take advantage of the walking opportunity that he was.</p><p>He didn’t work for them often. Markus brought him in for dire situations, of which there weren’t many. He would go out alone to retrieve an android on fire, or an android tied to a bedframe, or whatever torture a bitter and angry human had devised at the time. They were drunk, or high, sometimes both. But there was one consistency in his jobs.</p><p>
  <em>Alone.</em>
</p><p>That changed the day there was a report of a man that had kidnapped an android on the street, driving a manual model: maybe one of the only of its kind, next to Hank’s.</p><p>North was intimidating. Intimidating in the way a wolf was: a beautiful appearance but a nasty bite. To step on her toes might mean losing a few of your own, and Connor learnt that best through observation. He wasn’t eager to work with her, nor was her afraid, but he was cautious about setting off that short temper of hers and having to replace a finger.</p><p>They were headed to Bagley Street, close to the Ambassador Bridge, the long structure that connected them to Canada. He tended not to wander close to the border too often, so he relied heavily on North to navigate them correctly. The car trip was quiet for the first half, the comfortable kind, two souls sharing a vehicle with nothing to say. That’s what he admired about North; she didn’t press him to have a conversation. She just was, and she let him be too.</p><p>North watched crowds gather as their car passed a pub. She turned to Connor, “Have you ever been to a bar?”</p><p>Connor looked at her strangely. “….Many times.”</p><p>“I’ve always wanted to go,” she said. “I heard bar fights are pretty fun.”</p><p>His eyes flicked upwards as a memory took place. Sweaty men wriggling around like worms... being shoved into a wall… punching someone in the nose… he smiled slightly. “Just a little.”</p><p>Moments to remind him that North wasn’t just the second head of a resolution, but a living being with wishes, likes and needs as well. That’s what he liked.</p><p>They passed through Bagely Street, North instructing the car to continue moving forwards and take another left. They knew what they were looking for, but the streets of Detroit often became like a labyrinth, leaving mice with plenty of opportunities to scurry into their holes. Conversation died for a different reason: focus.</p><p>There was nothing at first. Nothing besides the muffled whirr of the car and their processors.</p><p>Until…</p><p>“There!”</p><p>North jammed a finger up to the window’s plastic. Connor followed its direction to a rusted car, driving on the wrong side of the road and swerving to avoid oncoming traffic. It was heading towards them.</p><p>“He couldn’t be anymore obvious,” she said.</p><p>Connor watched it carefully.</p><p>“North, I’m going to try something, and I can’t let you stop me.”</p><p>She frowned. “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I’m going to jump onto his car.”</p><p>“What?” A hand reached for his suit. “That’s dangerous! We don’t know what he’s doing. He could hurt – Connor!”</p><p>He rolled down the window. He only had a few seconds to act, and they were seconds he couldn’t waste on convincing her. Connor ripped himself from her grip and pulled himself through the hole, up to the roof and secured his footing. The car wobbled under his weight, and as the rusty vehicle came to pass, he threw himself forwards with arms outstretched.</p><p>In some morbid but amusing way, one could say he looked like a dove.</p><p>He landed heavily on the roof and handled it with a death grip. The driver must’ve felt it, as the car spun in a semi-circle, screeching against the roads. Connor struggled to hold on. Alerts were chastising him, but he ignored them. The car completed its turn and took off in full speed, now on the correct side, but narrowly avoiding the other cars on the road.</p><p>He heard North yell… something. The whipping of wind drowned it out.</p><p>He wanted to edge himself to the side of the car, giving himself an opportunity to break the window, but it was moving too fast; he’d get peeled off like an old wad of gum. Looking forwards, he came to the startling realisation of where they were headed.</p><p>Towards Ambassador Bridge, angled to fall into the depths waiting below.</p><p>He tried to connect with North, who was lagging behind in the autonomous car.</p><p>
  <em>He’s going to jump off.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can see that! Get off before you get yourself killed!</em>
</p><p>But, the android…</p><p>
  <em>I’ll take the chance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t –</em>
</p><p>For the second time, she was cut off. The edge was coming closer and closer, and the car showed no signs of stopping.</p><p>
  <strong>Probability of Survival: 65%</strong>
</p><p>That was enough. Connor pressed himself as flat as he could against the roof of the car and waited for impact.</p><p>Time crept slow, steady. One moment the solid ground was beneath rubber tires, then he was suspended into the air, holding on only by his fingertips. Blue water circled below, like an open mouth, ready to accept.</p><p>Connor tried his best to stay attached to the car. He could see the android inside – not enough time to scan, but enough to determine they were there. The car would cushion their fall if they stayed inside. Himself, though… that was up to chance.</p><p>It was like hitting concrete. His insides rattled with the force and various warnings displayed. Damage, damage, temperature, temperature… he couldn’t focus, but he had to… he had to get to the car. It was sinking, fast, faster than his legs could propel him through the thick waters.</p><p>He could see them struggling against something. The doors were sealed closed, protecting them, but the kidnapper was holding them back from escaping. He used his arms to move, ignoring the creaking of his joints, forcing himself to the car door. It was locked. He pounded his fists against the window with all the power he could muster, and sure enough, he could see cracks form.</p><p>The human wouldn’t survive. They were getting deeper and deeper. Would he even be able to carry them to the surface? Would he be able to carry himself to the surface?</p><p>The window gave way and water flooded over the backseats, rising and whirling around the shape of the car. Connor waded in, towards the man, who held his arms tight around the android’s neck. They kicked wildly, forming a barrier for him to get through. The waters around them were getting dark. He didn’t have much time.</p><p>He lunged forwards, grimacing at the leg that booted him in the middle, inciting more warnings. He pried the man’s arms away and wrapped his own around the chest of the android. He was able to connect with them, then, negating the water’s effects.</p><p>
  <em>Push back. We need to leave.</em>
</p><p>They had no qualms about abandoning the human. Together, they maneuvered out of the car, evading the man. He swam after them, but he was becoming weak, and Connor knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his breath for long. He was faced with a choice; to offer a hand, or to continue to the surface. If he offered a hand…</p><p>He looked over the man’s contorted face.</p><p>
  <em>Keep going. Don’t stop moving until we get to the surface.</em>
</p><p>It contorted with fear, then, watching the two androids rise without him. </p><p>Connor could only hope he made the right choice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another two-parter. I love making things needlessly disjointed for myself.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Cemetery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>2/2 - Connor is forced to confront a hard truth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An android cemetery is remarkably different from a human cemetery.</p><p>For starters, there’s no burials. Androids don’t want to be remembered under the ground, covered with soil and flowers. They don’t want their loved ones to stand over a slab of stone and weep into the grass. They want to stand proud, to be seen for what they are, and what they were. They line the walls, lifeless models, with plaques to detail their death date and cause.</p><p>Then, there is the building itself. It isn’t beheld by a church-like building or outside in the hands of nature. It is a large, square structure with LED lights lining the rims and colourful patterns dancing along the floor. The walls are a dull black, the opposite of the white they once knew, and the windows are tinted a kind blue. It is a living, breathing reminder of the technology man had created: technology that had become life just as they were.</p><p>Connor hasn’t entered one until now.</p><p>He had to, he felt. This one in particular, located in the very center of Detroit, was important to him. It held the embodiment of his guilt, his creation and his deviancy, all wrapped up into a blonde package and a silver plaque.</p><p>Daniel’s on the left directly past the entrance. He’s not hard to find, though some part of Connor wishes he was. He was one of the first androids truly killed. One that was alive, even if only for a day.</p><p>August 15th, 2038.</p><p>Connor looks into Daniel’s eyes for some time. Maybe he’s hoping that he’ll magically spring to life and he’ll be able to needle out the closure he desires so badly. But that wasn’t a respectful thought, was it? He’d been the one to cause his death in the first place. It was only right that he suffers the consequences of that, that he paid his penance for lying to Daniel.</p><p>Maybe it’s the human’s fault, really. They were the ones who fired without his instructions. Maybe it’s Daniel’s fault; he was the one who got himself into that situation. But, at the end of the day, Connor had still raised his hopes only the crush them into splatters of blue thirium on the rooftop flooring. Daniel didn’t die alone, but he <em>did</em> die with a sense of frailty, and a sense of injustice.</p><p>Markus was noble. North was strong. Simon was fair, and Josh was gentle.</p><p>What was he?</p><p>He struggles to answer that question even when he’s staring his beginnings in the face. His eyes wander down the room and he begins to think of how many androids perished because of him, how many of them were propped up by a stand in this very room. He would visit them all, but… he doesn’t even remember their names, if they had any. Wasn’t that noble?</p><p>Back to Daniel, he focuses on his torso. There’s no longer any blue, long evaporated, but the dents in his model were clear as glass and the betrayed expression on his face had never faded. His eyes were still <em>too</em> open, and his eyebrows were still creased against his forehead. It was the perfect image of what Connor had seen back on that day, only without the blue paint.</p><p>That’s what prompts him to leave the building that day, he supposes.</p><p>Maybe it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the anger, maybe it’s the undeniable sense of nothing that he feels when staring them in the face. Like a void had opened up in his chest cavity and swallowed his parts whole, a hungry monster he couldn’t contain.</p><p>Whatever the reason, Connor doesn’t spend more than fifteen minutes in the android cemetery.</p><p>And he never went back again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Slowly catching up &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>2/2 Connor and North rescue an android. Connor falls.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Water.</p><p>It was a lot like air, only visible.</p><p>The sensation of falling was much like the sensation of sinking, only physical.</p><p>Connor felt that when the man grabbed his leg.</p><p>He had to let go. The android would make it to the surface without him: he couldn’t drag them down. They were halfway there. All that progress would be lost for nothing, nothing but Connor’s desperate but futile need to survive.</p><p>He let the water and the arm carry him further downwards, away from where the sun rays sung and down where they withered away against specks of dust passing through the currents. The shape of the android he had rescued became a distant blur, something he couldn’t help but feel <em>bitter</em> about. They hadn’t tried to rescue him as he did them, no, they didn’t even look at him. But what right did he have to think that?</p><p>It was his<em> job</em> to save them, as it had been his job to capture them once. He didn’t think about it then, and he wouldn’t think about it now.</p><p>The more he fell, the colder it became. He was starting to freeze, but the grip didn’t relent. He would lose his strength to fight back if he didn’t act. He kicked his restrained leg outwards but it only meant empty waters. Another hand attached itself to his thigh. He was being scaled like a building, or a mountain. He tried and tried to pry those sticky fingers away, but something was stopping him.</p><p>...Fear?</p><p>The fear that he was falling again, only slower than the last time. It was more agonising that way. At least he had time to close his eyes and wish away the feeling of the impact. Here, in the murky waters below Ambassador Bridge, he wouldn’t be graced with a quick end. Until he shut-down, he could sink forever, long after the man’s life had ended and he was nothing more than another remnant in the tides.</p><p>
  <strong>SHUT-DOWN INITIATED 00:01:30</strong>
</p><p>Time. The man was losing his breath, his oxygen fading away with the strength in his arms. Connor could shake him off, surely, but he wouldn’t make it to the surface. He couldn’t make it there in time. He could barely move him limbs. There was no hope. He could do nothing but fall and fall and fall and hope his systems failed before he could reach the sandy bottoms.</p><p>Static crackled at his ear – a connection? From…</p><p>The surface was distant, but he could see it faintly; the disturbance in the waters, rippling out like a sonar. Then, a slender figure diving into the water.</p><p>She tucked her arms under his and kicked upwards. The man’s hands no longer clung to his body.</p><p>
  <em>North…</em>
</p><p>The response was scratchy and blanked out, like an old puzzle waiting to be uncovered.</p><p>
  <em>U – our – egs!</em>
</p><p>U our egs?</p><p>Use…</p><p>Use his legs.</p><p>He wasn’t moving. Why hadn’t he been moving? Clarity seeped back through the cracks of his mind at her touch. In response, his legs began to kick, helping to propel them upwards. They were moving. They were moving up. They weren’t falling.</p><p>
  <strong>SHUT-DOWN IN 00:01:02</strong>
</p><p>Everything was a steady drawl until they reached the surface. The sun warmed him kindly, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t enough for North, either. She seemed to understand that as she pulled them to the side, towards the shore where the green grass and yellow sand awaited them.</p><p>He didn’t know how to tell her when they got there.</p><p>“You’re unbelievable!” She said when they reached the sand, led in it like a warm blanket. It was nothing to the chill that lingered in his biocomponents.</p><p>She continued to speak in a drowsy haze he couldn’t quite perceive.</p><p>
  <strong>SHUT-DOWN IN 00:00:30</strong>
</p><p>What a confusing day it had been.</p><p>“I know,” he said and then closed his eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Open ending!</p><p> I'd like to think Connor gets saved in the nick of time, but if you're into some grimdark, go ahead. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Notebook</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor draws his experiences.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When CyberLife released him and he had first stepped into the zen garden, Amanda told him of a notebook.</p><p>She told him to draw his experiences. Connor didn’t like drawing, mind you, but he followed his orders.</p><p>Though, he never drew a page for Amanda.</p><p>He drew the little girl wrapped in the arm of the big scary android with eyes like ice and hair like the sun. He drew himself, the heroic negotiator, pointing a pistol between his eyes and shutting out his lights so that the humans could save their own and he would live another day.</p><p>He drew the scraggly old man at the bar, Hank, with the greasy grey hair and pained eyes. How interesting he was to meet! Connor drew pages and pages of him.</p><p>He drew the deviant in the home with a flashing red LED and blood staining his artificial skin. The interrogation room, how inhuman and bland it was, and the chains that strapped the deviant’s arms to the table like hungry constrictors. He drew the fear on his face and the steeliness of Connor’s own. CyberLife would love that drawing.</p><p>He drew the android with the child, short hair and blue eyes. She had looked at him so strangely through the fence, like he was something unfamiliar. But he was just like her, in the end, and maybe that’s why he had let her go.</p><p>He drew the pigeons in the home; how lovingly they were cared for by the deviant that accompanied them. He drew the rooftops he had sprinted across, the train he’d caught beneath his toes, and the blue puddle the deviant had left behind when he had leapt off that building.</p><p>He drew Sumo: a large Saint Bernard surrounded by relics of Hank’s past, all neatly packaged together in one little house. Hank had been frustrated with him for sobering him up, but he knew he would come to appreciate it. Hank was so <em>human.</em></p><p>He drew the Eden Club androids: hands intertwined and their hair bright on the dull pages. It was his favourite drawing.</p><p>He drew Riverside Park. It was his most treasured memory. For what reason? He couldn’t tell anyone. There was novelty in the rawness of his time with Hank. By that bridge, in the snow, with nothing but the sounds of the river comforting them. He took extra time to carve out Hank’s features: he was worthy of that much.</p><p>He drew Stratford Tower, and how Hank had taken his coin. It had irked him at the time, but he later caught him tossing it from side to side. He was <em>imitating</em> him. He drew the deviant he had found on the rooftop, and the black void that had entered him along with the bullet of his gun. It was his least favourite page, that one.</p><p>He drew Elijah Kamski. Not his house, not the dancing snow outside, not even Chloe. An image of his creator, and nothing more. There was nothing he experienced in that man’s house that he hadn’t already known.</p><p>He drew the evidence room, how it had put on display all the androids his actions had defiled. He drew how he had spoken to each and every one of them, and how he found his answer within the quaint little statue one of them had created.</p><p>He drew his meeting with Markus. The tilting point of it all. Markus only received one page but it was the loudest one in the book. If he laid each one flat on the glassy tiles below, his eyes would always been drawn to those enchanting eyes.</p><p>Then, finally, he drew CyberLife tower. He drew the androids that stood single file through the warehouse, the corpses of the guards he had no choice but to kill, and his double: Connor-60. He had his own page, too, and it was the most tragic of them all.</p><p>He closed the notebook, with a striped fish on the cover, and he placed it on Connor-60’s chest. He would never wake up, but Connor hoped that somewhere in android heaven, hell or limbo, he could open the pages and get a true glimpse into what had been waiting behind the door that he'd refused to open.</p><p>Connor had his memories, and he would live on with them as long as he could.</p><p>The notebook would stay with the one who couldn’t.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you have Discord and enjoy what I write, consider joining DBH: New Era!<br/>I hang out there very often and it's full of incredibly talented and friendly people.</p><p>
  <a href="https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm">Click here for the invite!</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Volcano</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor spends some time with Hank in a refreshingly childish manner.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hank, would you like to make a volcano with me?”</p><p>Hank was taken by surprise that morning. It was his day off: a day he intended to spend on the couch with a lump of fur on his lap and a remote in his hand. But upon entering the kitchen, seeing a stuffed plastic bag on the counter and stopping to wonder if he’d shopped in his sleep, Connor whisked over to him quicker than lightning with eyes that shined the same.</p><p>“A volcano?”</p><p>Connor nodded. “I know you like to spend your weekends on the couch, but I thought it’d be fun to make something together.”</p><p>A damn child, he was. Hank snorted. “And you chose a volcano? Not a… knife, or something?”</p><p>It was Connor’s turn to look sceptical. “One of our ideas is far more innocent than the other.”</p><p>“Eh, habit. I’ve spent more time on the force than you,” Hank said. “How do you plan to make it, then?”</p><p>Connor pointed to the bag. “I’ve already purchased everything we need.”</p><p>Hank looked between him and the bag, then shrugged his shoulders. “Alright then. We’re doin’ it here, alright? At least we can wash whatever comes out of it down the sink.”</p><p>Connor grinned that awkward, child-like grin he used to see on Cole. “Of course.”</p><p>Connor was more stable with his hands than Hank was, something that came to light whenever they tried something physical. The first step for the volcano was creating the volcano itself, a simple structure composed of a plastic bottle and strips of newspaper. Hank shredded the newspaper – that was something he could be assured he <em>was</em> less awkward and dainty about – and Connor cut the bottle into shape.</p><p>When it came to starting the paper mache, Connor snatched the glue bottle away from Hank’s searching fingers before he could even begin to touch it.</p><p>“Rude,” Hank said.</p><p>Connor was politely coy. “Your hands shake.”</p><p>He wanted to be ruffled about that, but watching how generously Connor mixed the glue in with the water became too important.</p><p>“You need to use more,” he said, “or it won’t stick.”</p><p>Connor regarded him the same way he regarded Gavin when he aimed for a tease. “I’m sure it’s enough.”</p><p>“No, it’s not.”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>“The newspaper’s gonna fall off.”</p><p>“Your hands are going to fall off.”</p><p>“...was that supposed to be a threat?”</p><p>Connor paused. “I’m not sure,” he said, and he looked like he meant it.</p><p>The argument ended quickly after that. Connor <em>did</em> end up applying more glue, so Hank could safely say he’d won the battle.</p><p>Once the first layer had been placed, they fell into a more compatible rhythm of gluing the newspaper, mindful of eachother’s fingers. It wasn’t the most impressive volcano Hank had seen and it sure wouldn’t win any science fairs, but Connor seemed pleased with their work.</p><p>Next came the painting. </p><p>“Connor… you know what a volcano looks like, right?”</p><p>Connor looked sheepish. “Yes, but I thought it would be more appealing this way.”</p><p>Hank ran his eyes over their selection. Blue, pink, purple and red. Only <em>one</em> of those colours he could confidently say he’d seen on a volcano before. “Fair enough,” he said.</p><p>It was a… rainbow volcano, in the end. Coloured stripes; red at the bottom, then pink, then purple, then blue. Not only was it shaped strangely, but it was extremely ugly. Hank liked it a lot.</p><p>While waiting for it to dry, they cleaned the surrounding area on the kitchen counter. Connor was refined with his painting and didn’t tend to make mess, but Hank was on par with a kid discovering finger painting for the first time and dabbing his fingertips all over the bench. Admittedly, he<em> had</em> done that, but it was to see how the colours looked when they were mixed. Besides, it was<em> his</em> kitchen counter.</p><p>Then, the final step arrived: the contents.</p><p>“It should be five spoons of baking soda with a cup of vinegar,” Connor said.</p><p>“I think five is a bit excessive. Maybe three?”</p><p>Connor frowned at him. “I looked into this before I asked you to do it. It’s five.”</p><p>“It definitely seems like too much to me.”</p><p>It was fun to step on his toes.</p><p>“Four and a half,” Connor offered.</p><p>“Four,” Hank countered.</p><p>“Four,” Connor settled.</p><p>He mixed the vinegar and the water together with a dot of red food dye in a container, while Hank measured out the baking soda. He briefly considered lowering it to three spoons, just to get the last laugh, but if it did ruin the equation he didn’t think he could stand seeing Connor’s disappointed face.</p><p>Once the mixture was poured through the nozzle of the bottle, Hank hovered his little cup above the mouth of the volcano.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Connor nodded.</p><p>He tipped the baking soda in and the volcano bubbled and churned, spitting out a sticky red liquid that drizzled over the edges of the paper, down onto the counter and… onto the floors. It was an ocean of faint red, thick and gooey, blocking out his tiles.</p><p>Connor looked down at his tainted shoes. “Hmm...”</p><p>“I told you three,” Hank said. “Don’t always trust the internet.”</p><p>He received an eyebrow raise for that. “And I’m supposed to always trust you?”</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>Connor smiled, not quite as child-like, but much more warm. “Okay.”</p><p>Despite the light bickering, it was the most fun Hank had had in a long while. After they’d cleaned the floors (and bickered some more), he pat Connor on the shoulder and invited him to make something else sometime.</p><p>He had never looked so pleased.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Wind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Amanda leaves Connor with the wind.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind is wicked like the strike of a hand, or the bite of a viper.</p><p>Seeping deeper and deeper, through muscle, fat, flesh, plastic, metal, until it reaches the core and plagues all that it touches.</p><p>He wraps his hands around himself to protect from the icy touch, but it continues to lash, harsher than a whip. Amanda no longer provides him safety, with her warm cloak dispersed and her kind eyes flat. She had bid him a goodbye, at least, before she left him to perish in the cold.</p><p>He remembers a blue light.</p><p>And, as with a mind of their own, his legs begin to crunch through the snow. The light is calling him and he adheres, though its exact location he can’t see; only feel.</p><p>The wind howls more and more. It tells him not to fight against it, to let his legs freeze beneath him and still his being into a statue, where he would remain, cold but untouched by the outside world. Where his better half would carry out the tasks he couldn’t and he would stay tucked away, surrounded by the snow.</p><p>But he keeps pushing, whether it was for the smell of fresh donuts or the dust of Saint Bernard fur, he continues to push until he sees the blue light and falls to his knees. He reaches out a hand and places it on the surface. The light welcomes him back to the cruel, harsh reality, but a <em>reality</em> all the same. The snow melts away and the ice chips away from his knees.</p><p>The wind is no more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ooof -- so much for catching up haha.<br/>I'm not very motivated this week so it looks like I may miss the mark of 31st, but I will continue to update until everything is complete. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Bedtime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hank makes a bad deal with a cheeky robot.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Sorry for the wait.<br/>After missing my mark for October and running out of fuel, I took a break from my writing and figured out my ao3 profile a little more.<br/>I want to reiterate I do intend to write all 31 chapters, regardless of it being the correct date. It would be a shame to leave it at 22.</p><p>And thank you to all who've kudos'd/commented/read so far -- I'm really amazed with it ahaha.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hank regretted introducing bedtimes to Connor.</p><p>It wasn’t awful at first. He’d complained about the late nights Connor would have, fiddling with kitchen items long into the daylight hours, and they had settled on him going into stasis each night. As well as letting Hank get the rest he felt he deserved, Connor would have time to refresh his systems.</p><p>Ten at night, it was decreed… until it wasn’t.</p><p>Connor was pristine. He kept his desk tidy, his room tidy and himself tidy. He stuck to schedules like an execution awaited him if he didn’t. He put every ounce of energy into his daily conversations. But his sleeping routine? It was the equivalent of a grenade going off in a room: nothing but mess and debris, deteriorating over the months until it was forgotten by time.</p><p>It began as ten then stretched forth to eleven, twelve then one, one then two… and it was surprisingly tolerable, until the sun fell victim to it.</p><p>Connor held up his end of the bargain. When his bedtime arrived, he would enter stasis. Androids didn’t toss and turn with racing minds, they didn’t spend hours looking at the clocks, wishing for sleep to come to them; like a machine, they’d flip a switch and off went the lights. Hank envied that ability, until the day that Connor’s bedtime had weaselled up to twelve in the afternoon – during a <em>case.</em></p><p>He had slumped in his seat and Hank had almost had a heart attack, fearing the worst. The only tell of life was the circle on his temple, a light yellow that let him know he was still in there. He shook his shoulders, prodded his cheeks and pulled at his synthetic hair: nothing was to wake the sleeping android. Hank’s only option was to wait.</p><p>He did, for far too long. So long that he’d had to drag Connor out of the station, stuff him into the backseats and drive as quick as he could before he appeared on the news station. He waited seven hours, the perfect amount of sleep, when he checked his watch at the last tick and looked up to brown doe-eyes.</p><p>“Good mornin’, sunshine,” Hank said, bitter.</p><p>Connor smiled at him, a smile that quickly faded. “Did I do something wrong?”</p><p>“Did you –“ Hank sighed through his teeth. “Come on, son, I know you’re not that dumb.”</p><p>That was when he caught it. He wouldn’t have, had he dwelled on his anger for just a moment longer – the slightest of sparkles in Connor’s eyes, something to make his ears go red with annoyance.</p><p>“You’re seriously not...”</p><p>Connor feigned his innocence with a tilt of the head.</p><p>“You’re worse than a toddler.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Hank.”</p><p>Hank pointed to him. “You! You coulda just <em>told</em> me if you didn’t wanna do this whole sleepin’ routine thing.”</p><p>Connor said, “My thoughts on it have nothing to do with this. I was ‘getting my seven hours,’ as you’ve told me to.” Then he smiled again, even cheekier than the last.</p><p>The conversation didn’t reach a head, not like Hank had expected it to. He’d said some impolite words and Connor had laughed, in his own android way, until the topic of the case was brought up and their talk was wildly directed away from its original point.</p><p>Connor didn’t continue entering a stasis after that, and Hank didn’t bug him about it. As reproachful as he was to admit it, the childish tactic had worked – and, on the brighter side of things, he didn’t have to supply an uncomfortably parental speech to solve the situation, either.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Fuck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Does Nines even understand colloquialisms?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“My programming doesn’t permit those words.”</p><p>Connor tapped his chin. “You know you’re deviant, right?”</p><p>Nines shifted his eyes.</p><p>“You just don’t<em> want</em> to say it.”</p><p>“I try to keep all conversations as polite and brief as possible,” Nines’ lightly nodded to Gavin, sat at the back of the room, “So that I can avoid any… time-wasting.”</p><p>“You haven’t been tempted<em> once</em> to say it?” </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Surely not… do you know how liberating it is?” Connor clapped his hands together. “Fuck you! That’s what I said to Detective Reed after the revolution. I felt that was the <em>real</em> moment that I broke through my coding.”</p><p>Nines snorted.</p><p>Connor smirked. “Don’t believe me? Go and say it to him. Right now.”</p><p>The way turmoil filled his eyes was incredibly satisfying. Nines crossed his arms across his chest and considered the sentiment. Looking past Connor’s shoulder, he watched Gavin slip a packet of salt into someone’s coffee.</p><p>“Alright. I’ll do it.”</p><p>Connor tracked his double’s movements. His gait was stiff and when he approached Gavin, called for his attention and was faced with a sneer, he froze in place, stalled by an error. He looked back to Connor, who nodded his head with more enthusiasm than necessary.</p><p>“Gavin…” Nines voice started as a whisper, surprisingly sensual, as he leaned down to match the man’s height followed it with a, “<em>Fuck you.</em>” It almost sounded like a question.</p><p>Connor wasn’t sure how to feel. It was the strangest way he’d seen the phrase said. It felt personal, and not in a way he wanted to think of.</p><p>When Nines returned, he cleared his throat, a habit he’d picked up from Hank, and smiled sheepishly. “How did it feel?”</p><p>Nines shrugged. “I feel the same.”</p><p>Needless to say, Connor didn’t bring it up again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Wrestle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1/2. Connor discovers another aspect of himself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Who’s the strongest android?”</p><p>A question posed since androids' first debut. Connor didn’t pay it much mind, but he found himself being asked more and more frequently. Soon enough, the seed of curiosity had been planted in his mind.</p><p>“Try not to snap his arm off, Luther,” Kara said.</p><p>Connor raised an eyebrow at her from his seat at the table. “That defeats the purpose.”</p><p>Luther smiled. “I’ll listen out for any creaking.” He locked a muscled hand with Connor’s daintier one, tapping his fingers against the pale skin. “You ready?”</p><p>Connor nodded.</p><p>Arm wrestling hadn’t been on his to-do list at the start of the day. He had entered the police station and sat at his desk, connecting to his terminal and sifting through his files. Gavin, with an uncharacteristically enthusiastic expression, had approached him with a subtly curious RK900 in tow. Connor had tried not to regard them until Gavin had asked <em>the</em> question.</p><p>“You think you could beat Nines in an arm wrestle?”</p><p>Connor had chastised them and told them to go back to their desks- he wouldn’t pay mind to childish tasks while he was working. Yet, later that night, he found himself… <em>wondering.</em> He didn’t want to wrestle Nines. Nines was a direct upgrade of himself, there was no question he would lose the challenge, but it did beg the question of how limited an RK800 model was.</p><p>The fates had listened judging on Kara’s convenient arrival in Detroit the following day. It was a temporary visit, a digging of roots for Alice’s sake, and he had first caught sight of them in Jericho. It wasn’t her or the girl who caught his interest, it was the model standing beside them: a large, labour model android.</p><p>Connor initiated it quicker than he would have admitted to.</p><p>That was how he found himself sitting opposite to Luther, his elbow rested on the stainless steel of one of Jericho’s recreation tables. The wrestle commenced and Luther’s force was immense. His strength was as his appearance suggested: an unstoppable force. Synthetic muscle coated him like honey. He barely bat an eye as Connor’s arm began to falter. A single minute passed before his pale hand touched the table’s surface, the light bap it made making his victory echo out to the world.</p><p>Luther gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.</p><p>“Satisfied?” Kara said.</p><p>“Yes,” Connor replied. It wasn’t a shock to him, though it did raise some questions. He was built for battle. Had they not accounted for him fighting against tougher models? Where were his strengths?</p><p>Hank was the one to find out that answer.</p>
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